Nursing humanity's

Ever-bright flower.

Sin may be rife enough,
But the good part'
Lieth low hidden in
Every heart.

God sent the stream at first
From his own fount;

Christ, in diffusing it,

Died on the mount.
And amongst stony ways
Ripples are heard,

Like the half-uttered notes
Of a lone bird!
Dark though the fate of us,
That matters not-

In the glad soul of us

Lies the bright spotLook for the Flowers!

Are there not sainted ones Graciously given,

Who in their gentle hands
Lead us to heaven?

When they return to us,
In the dim night,
Are they not angel-like,
Holy and bright-
Sanctified-purified

Unto us now,

With a heaven-garland Encircling each brow?

Turn to the living ones
There as they stand,

Touch the live hearts of them
With thy love-wand-

Seek not the weeds in them,
And to thy sight

They will be angel-like,

Holy and bright—
Look for the Flowers!

Look for the flowery way;
Life has its clouds-
Treasured ones suddenly

Wrapt in their shrouds; Hopes often dashed aside, Hearts rudely torn;

And o'er wrecked promises
Oft do we mourn.

Hints, too, are given us
That our swift day
Rapidly-rapidly
Fleeteth away.

Up, then, and cheerfully!-
Trust me, there lies

Much that is beautiful

'Neath the broad skies!

Go on life's pilgrimage,
Hand locked in hand,
A hopeful, a jubilant,
Brotherly band-
Looking for Flowers!

MARINER'S HYMN.

Anon.

LAUNCH thy bark, Mariner!
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder bands,
Good angels lead thee;
Set thy sails warily,
Tempests may come;
Steer thy course steadily,
Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather bow,
Breakers are round thee!
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee!
Reef in the foresail there,
Hold the helm fast;
So let the vessel wear;
There sweeps the blast.

What of the night, Watchman ?

What of the night?

Cloudy, all quiet :

No land yet-all's right! Be wakeful, be vigilant,

Danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.

How gains the bark so fast?
Clear out the hold;
Hoist out thy merchandise,

Heave out thy gold.
There, let the ingots go;

Now the ship rights.

Hurrah! the harbor's near;

Lo! the red lights!

Slacken not sail yet,
At inlet or island;

Straight for the beacon steer,
Straight for the highland:
Crowd all thy canvass on,

Cut through the foam;
Christian, cast anchor now,

Heaven is thy Home!

LIABILITY OF MAN TO SORROW.

Mrs. Sigourney.

I SAW on sheltering stem

A bud of being grow,
And sport its infant diadem,
As if to laugh at woe:

Methought its little span was blest,

And bright with rainbow hueFrom cradle dream to love's fond breast, The only change it knew;

But pain its fluttering eye-lids sealed,
Pale grew its visage fair,

And life's scarce-opened scroll revealed
The trouble everywhere.

I saw a form of grace,
The gayest of the gay,

And those who gazed upon her face
Felt sadness melt away.

There was strange witchery in her wile,
And tow'rd her home I prest,
Believing they who shared her smile
Must be supremely blest;
But from her secret cell a sound
Burst forth of deep despair,

And e'en that light young heart had found
The trouble everywhere.

Bold Manhood tower'd along,
With stately step and high,
The tallest 'mid a lordly throng,
In unblenched majesty;

But when the public eye no more
Upon his glories fed,

The passion struggle shook him sore,

Till his torn bosom bled;

And darkly o'er his features stole

Misanthropy and care

The witness of his warring soul-
The trouble everywhere.