THE PRODIGALITY OF BEAUTY.

Oh! what a waste of beauty is displayed
Upon the fading page of every day;

Millions of blossoms deck the wind-swept glade
With richer tints than human arts display.

What gorgeous beauty gilds the fleecy cloud
With endless changes until evening gray!
And when the hours the dying day must shroud,
With regal splendor does it pass away.

And what eternal beauty fills the night

From stars lone burning since Creation's day! Though millions sleep, unconscious of the sight, Still, still descends from heaven each far-sent ray.

What tender loveliness surrounds the Spring!
Who sitteth, child-like, heeding not the cold,
So that her lap is bright with blossoming,

And looketh gay with flowers of blue and gold.

What charms beam forth from Summer's rosy face
When with the Sun's warm kiss 'tis glowing red!
While on the useful grains and fruits is grace
In form and coloring how richly shed!

And when the year, her work completed, dies,
What loveliness is blending with decay!
Each forest arch, warm hued like sunset skies,

Writes Nature's triumph soon to fade away.

While e'en old Winter, shivering and cold,

Mimics with cunning hand Spring's buds and flowers, Bids every tree its snowy foliage hold,

And turns to gems the heaven's descending showers.

THOUGHTS IN THE Fields.

Come o'er the hills! the sun is setting;
The dying sunbeams spread o'er the sky,
In gorgeous beauty higher ascending,-
Why cannot we in like glory die?

See in the leaves a tremulous motion,

The wind runs his fingers through earth's green hair,

Like rolling waves of billowy ocean,

They whisper the heart's unspoken prayer.

O'er the hills there's a sense of freedom-
Drop for awhile the shackles of care!
Think that God walks here as once in Eden,
Shedding his beauty everywhere!

What is the world, its life and fashion?
Fleeting and transient they pass away:
Man strives to perfect his works, but Nature
Needs no improvement, it knows no decay!

Wearing enough the din and bustle,

The constant round of the city's toil;

The steady strain of brain and muscle,
The labor that wastes, the sins that soil.

Come o'er the hills and leave behind you

The dust and heat of the summer day! Rend for awhile the chains that bind you, And lay the cares of your life away!

SUMMER'S BREATH.

Sweet breath of summer time !

Of fragrant blossoms, and of scented hay-
Of blossoms bending where soft rain-drops chime
A measured roundelay.

Sweet breath of summer time!

Where the wind through the brier roves about Through southern vines that upward daily climb, And all their sweets pour out.

The heavy laden air,

Droppeth its perfumed burden all around,
As happy souls the blessedness would share,
Wherewith they do abound.

Seeming the smile of God,

The sunshine falleth o'er the green-clad earth,
And like a hidden army from the sod,

Myriads of flowers have birth;

And, dancing with the wind,

Shake out their scented garments in the breeze, Their flowery robes, the ever graceful trees, The fickle gales to bind.

Sweet breath of summer time!

Of fragrant blossoms and of scented hay-
Of blossoms bending where soft rain-drops chime
A liquid roundelay.

THE CALLERS.

Softly 'mid the world's confusion
Comes a knocking at the door
Of the heart. Oh, strange delusion,
That doth make us evermore
Bid it depart!

There sweet Charity is standing
With her pleading, earnest eyes,
With her feet upon the landing;
Oft to enter in she tries,
But all in vain.

There meek Prayer is ever waiting,
Seeing grief and pain go in ;
Why should she be hesitating,
When such evil guests within
Have borne their woe?

Faith comes ling'ring round the portal,
Pointing through earth's misty veil;
But we cling to what is mortal,
And reject her wondrous tale
Forevermore.

Love divine seeks oft to enter,
But a love has passed before
Where our best affections centre;
And we turn forth from the door
Our holy guest!

Softly 'mid the world's confusion
Comes a knocking at the door
Of the heart. Oh! strange delusion,
That doth make us evermore
Bid it depart !

THE TIME TO DIE.

When is the time to die?

Not when the heart world-weary seeks for rest,

And Death's quick coming would be welcomed, blest, And to Eternity

The soul would rush unthinking and alone,

Fearing no evils save those it had flown.