ON A LICHEN

Gathered from the North Cape, beneath the midnight sun, July 3, 1874, by J. M. Richards.

Where on the arctic shores

The North Cape stretches forth a warning hand,
Saying, "Bear off, bold mariner,

Sail not unto this silent land".

From where the midnight sun

Scorches to redness with his burning kiss,
Where frowning icebergs tower in gloomy seas,
A traveller's hand brought this.

Thou tiny lichen, born of sleet and storm!
Thou lonely dweller on the rocky cape!

What unseen fingers mould thy graceful form?
What artist eyes thy fragile outlines shape?

Fragile, yet firmer than the human life,

Or iron ship-a bubble on these seas—

So dost thou bear unharmed the whirlwind's strife,
And grow, our distant eyes with grace to please.

There where the short-lived grass forgets to grow,
And summer flower scarce dares to raise its head,
The hungry reindeer finds beneath the snow
Thy welcome tufts unearthed beneath his tread.

Still shall the Northern Cape thy lacework wear,
And arctic birds shall line with thee their nests;
While man shall leave his birdlings and his home,
And make, through silent seas, his death-bound quest

LIFT UP YOUR HEADS.

Lift up thy head! O son of toil;
Thou weary worker on life's road,
Whose earth-bound hands upturn the soil,
Urged on by penury's stern goad!
Not always will it be thy lot

To toil unhonored and unsought.

Lift up thy head! O thought-worn man, Whose life-blood feeds the careless throng, As pelican's for her young ran,

So flows from thee thy heart-wrung song! But when shall end thy care-heaped days Bright souls in heaven shall give thee praise.

Lift up thy head! O woman lone,
Whose daily tasks Fame never tells;
Whose holy tho'ts are all unknown,

Deep in the heart's unfathomed cells.
Yet One there is who searcheth there —
Heard by his ear each vow and prayer.

Lift up thy head! O sad-eyed child,

Whose young life's sky is overcast― Upon whose birth love never smiled;

A floweret stemming Autumn's blast! Thy childhood shall return once more,

When earthly storms and frosts are o'er.

ANGELS OF TWILIGHT.

Angels of Twilight, come visit me now,
Folded each wing, a star on each brow;
While day's harsh noises grow fainter and cease-
Nearer, come nearer, and whisper of peace!

Angels of Twilight, breathe through the air,

Say there's a respite from toil and from care;
Tell of the land where earth's turmoils shall cease;
Nearer, draw nearer, and whisper of peace!

Tell of the land where things fade not away-
The faith of our childhood, the dawn of the day;
Where autumn sends down no sere leaves on the

blast,

Where flowers fade not, and no shadows are cast!

Angels of Twilight, solemn and calm,

Tell of the land where for woe there's a balm ;
Speak of the place where all mourning shall cease-
Nearer, draw nearer, and whisper of peace!

MYSTERIOUSLY DISAPPEARED.

Mysteriously disappeared

A maid ;—her name was Modesty ;

Shy were her eyes, as when the violet lies
Close shrinking from the eye of day.

Soft clinging round her fair, young head,
Her hair was golden, smoothly placed;
And diff'ring from th' abundant locks we see,
Belonged unto the head it graced.

Like roseate cloud in sunset sky,

That comes and goes e'en while we gaze, So was her cheek ;-but we may seek Vainly for blushes, nowadays.

Her dress, 'twas not, full well I know,
Be-ruffled, folded, tucked and frilled;
You scarcely knew its shape or hue,

So well the frock the neat form filled.

Her speech-ah! well, 'twas diff'rent quite
From that we hear around the street!
Like water's flow, 'twas soft and low :
To all respectful whom she'd meet.

Pray have you seen her? Tell me where?
Her mother, Virtue, grieves each day,
Seeking to find, with voice and prayer,
The maiden who has strayed away.

I scan the crowds that fill the street,
Endlessly passing night and day;
I find her not. Oh! who has got

The maiden that has strayed away?

LINES

Suggested on visiting a small family grave-yard in Kennebunk, Me.

Beneath tall pines it lies;

And from the summer skies

The sunshine flecked each grave with spots of gold; The cold, pale marble spoke

Of tender ties death broke,

Of loved ones held in earth's unloosing hold.

Sweet flowers bloomed around,
And made each grassy mound

A pillow fit to soothe each mortal care;
While from the pines o'erhead

A fragrant incense spread

That breathed for loved and lost a tender prayer.

Since the last fleeting year
Another grave is here,

And loving hands have placed around it flowers;
Strangers to us-unknown-

They lived-they died. We own

The same short history will soon be ours.

O quiet, peaceful spot!

Earth's pomps surround you not

But Nature circles round with mother-love.

Her early flowers here lie

(Earth's immortality),

And here, like souls set free, her bright birds move.