HARMONY.

Bowring.

I BADE the day-break bring to me
Its own sweet song of ecstasy:
An answer came from leafy trees,
And waking birds, and wandering bees,
And wavelets on the water's brim-
The matin hymn-the matin hymn.

I asked the noon for music then;
It echoed forth the hum of men;
The sounds of labor on the wind,
The loud-voiced eloquence of mind;
The heart-the soul's sublime pulsations,
The song the shout-the shock of nations.

I hastened from the restless throng,
To soothe me with the evening song;
The darkening heaven was vocal still,
I heard the music of the rill-
The homeward bee-the vesper bell-
The cicada-the Philomel.

Thou omnipresent Harmony!

Shades, streams, and stars are full of thee;
On every wing-in every sound-

Thine all-pervading power is found;
Some chord to touch, some tale to tell,
Deep-deep within the spirit's cell.

REST.

Berbert.

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessing standing by,
'Let us,' said he, 'pour on him all we can,
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.'

So strength made first a way,

Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honor, pleasure,

Perceiving that alone of all his treasure,
Rest at the bottom lay;

'For if I should,' said he,

'Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of Nature, So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him be rich and weary, that, at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast."

TIME.

R. Montgomery.

WE watch the ever rolling waves' career,
To where the ocean weds the sky, and think,
Thus roll away the restless hours of time.

WILD FLOWERS.

Liroll.

BEAUTIFUL children of the woods and fields! That bloom by mountain streamlets 'mid the heather,

Or into clusters 'neath the hazels gather, Or where by hoary rocks you make your bields, And sweetly flourish on through summer weather

I love ye all!

Beautiful flowers! to me ye fresher seem
From the Almighty hand that fashioned all,
Than those that flourish round a garden wall,
And I can image you as in a dream,

Fair modest maidens nursed in hamlets small:
I love ye all!

Beautiful gems! that on the brow of earth,
Are fixed as in a queenly diadem;

Though lowly ye and meet without a name,
Young hearts rejoice to see your buds come forth
As light erewhile into the world came-
I love ye all!

Beautiful things, ye are, where'er ye grow! The wild red rose-the speedwell's peeping

eyes;

Our own blue bell-the daisy that doth rise Wherever sunbeams fall, or winds do blow, And thousands more of blessed forms and dyes, I love you all!

Beautiful nurslings of the early dew!
Fanned in your loveliness by every breeze,
And shaded o'er by green and arching trees;
I often wish that I were one of you,
Dwelling afar upon the grassy leas-
I love ye all!

Beautiful watchers! day and night ye wake! The evening star grows dim and fades away, And morning comes and goes, and then the day

Within the arms of night its rest doth take; But ye are watchful wheresoe'er we strayI love ye all!

Beautiful objects of the wild bee's love!
The wild bird joys your opening bloom to see,
And in your native woods and wilds to be;
All hearts to nature true ye strangely move;
Ye are so passing fair-so passing fair-
I love ye all!

Beautiful children of the glen and dell, The dingle deep-the moorland stretching wide,

And of the mossy fountain's sedgy side; Ye o'er my heart have thrown a lovesome spell, And though the worldling, scorning, may deride

SONG.

Eliza E.

A YOUNG rose in the summer time
Is beautiful to me,

And glorious are the many stars
That glimmer on the sea;

But gentle words and loving hearts,
And hands to clasp my own,
Are better than the fairest flowers,
Or stars that ever shone.

The sun may warm the grass to life;
The dew, the drooping flower;
We may delight in Spring's return,
In Autumn's evening hour:
But words that breathe of tenderness,
And smiles we know are true,
Are warmer than the summer time,
And dearer than the dew.

It is not much the world can give
With all its subtle art,

And gold and gems are not the things
To satisfy the heart.

But oh! if those who cluster round Our own domestic hearth,

Have gentle words and loving smiles, How beautiful is earth!