And sweetly breaks the melody
Of thy imperfect words.

I know no fount that gushes out
As gladly as thy tiny shout.

I would that thou might'st ever be
As beautiful as now,—

That Time might ever leave as free
Thy yet unwritten brow.

I would life were "all poetry"
To gentle measure set,

That nought but chasten'd melody
Might stain thine eye of jet-
Nor one discordant note be spoken,
Till God the cunning harp hath broken.

I would but deeper things than these
With woman's lot are wove;
Wrought of intenser sympathies,
And nerved by purer love-
By the strong spirit's discipline,
By the fierce wrong forgiven,
By all that wrings the heart of sin,
Is woman won to heaven.

"Her lot is on thee,” lovely child-
God keep thy spirit undefiled!

I fear thy gentle loveliness,
Thy witching tone and air,
Thine eye's beseeching earnestness,
May be to thee a snare.

The silver stars may purely shine,

The waters taintless flow

But they who kneel at woman's shrine
Breathe on it as they bow-

Ye may fling back the gift again,

But the crush'd flower will leave a stain.

What shall preserve thee, beautiful child?
Keep thee as thou art now?
Bring thee, a spirit undefiled,

At God's pure throne to bow?
The world is but a broken reed,
And life grows early dim-
Who shall be near thee in thy need,

To lead thee up-to Him?

He, who himself was "undefiled:"

With Him we trust thee, beautiful child!

MORNING AND EVENING CONTRASTED.

THE morning sun! the morning sun!
How o'er the earth its lustres move,
When its first glance it throws upon

The bright, the glowing heaven above.
The birds seek now each verdant spray,
Now glide on light and joyous wing,

To pour on air their roundelay—

To wake on high their carolling.

The soul of halcyon repose
Sleeps on the soft and silver air;
The zephyr's breath is on the rose,
And on the woodbine's blossoms fair.

The dew reflects the orient sun,
Whose magic tints to it are given;
Oh! man's fond eye ne'er look'd upon
A fairer earth or brighter heaven!

The morning sun! the morning sun!

Joy wakes to view its glorious spread, When night hath chased the cloud of dun, Whose gloomy folds waved overhead. When nature wakes from soft repose,

While sports young May in earth's green bowers, Joy wakes to breathe the fragrant rose,

The woodbine's rich and matchless flowers;

To dash with footfall light away

From the green sward the dews of heaven;
To list the wild birds' varied lay,

While on the breeze their plumes are given.
How blest is joy's o'erflowing heart,
To bask beneath the golden dawn-
To view the sun his light impart

To the bright flowers and dewy lawn!

The dying sun! the dying sun!

How sink its languid rays to rest,
When twilight throws his shroud upon
The pale and melancholy west!
The rose which bloom'd in early May,
Droops now on its deserted stem;
O'er its sere leaves and blighted spray
Pours the night wind its requiem!

The birds which sung in summer's light,
And danced on light and purple wing,

Wake not the tuneless ear of night

Hush'd is their blithesome carolling! Their rest is where their song hath been: They sleep upon each faded flowerAh! earth can show no sadder scene Than meets the eye at twilight's hour!

The dying sun! the dying sun!

Oh! sorrow loves its fading light— It breathes a kindred glow upon

The breast wrapt in the gloom of night!

Pale sorrow loves the wither'd spray,

The flower o'er which the blight hath pass'd; These speak of rapture pass'd away,

Of cherish'd hours too bright to last!

What though the wild birds' loved retreat
Gives back no more their warblings dear;
The strain of gladness is not meet

For sorrow's lone and tuneless ear!
Better to list the breeze of night

O'er each sere leaf and dying flower;

Ah! sorrow's eye can know no sight

More welcome than pale twilight's hour!

MATTHEW VII. 26, 27.

BUILD'ST thou on Wealth ?-its wings are ever spread
Its trusting votaries to elude and foil;

On Science ?-see! his favorite sons have fled
Like the pale lamp that lit their midnight toil,
Forgotten as the flower that deck'd the vernal soil.

Build'st thou on Love?—the simple heart it cheers
When high in health and all around is gay,
Yet leads to folly, vanity, and tears;—

Build'st thou on Fame ?-the dancing meteor's ray
Glides not more swift, more unperceived away.

Ah! why on sands like these thy temple rear? How shall its base the storms and billows shun? Seek the Eternal Rock with humble fear,

And on the tablet of each setting sun

Grave with a diamond's point some deed of duty done.

If thou art young-the words of wisdom weigh,
Mature-the gathering ills of life beware,
Aged-O, make His mighty arm thy stay,

Who saves the weakest suppliant from despair,
And bids the darken'd tomb a robe of glory wear.