And one, The last of that bright band. And parted thus they rest, who played They that with smiles lit up the hall, THE SOLITARY REAPER. Wordsworth. - BEHOLD her, single in the field, No nightingale did ever chant Such thrilling voice was never heard Breaking the silence of the seas Will no one tell me what she sings? Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang THE ADOPTED CHILD. · Mrs. Hemans. "WHY wouldst thou leave me, O gentle child? Where many an image of marble gleams, 66 O, green is the turf where my brothers play, Through the long, bright hours of the summer day; They find the red cup-moss where they climb, And they chase the bee o'er the scented thyme; And the rocks where the heath flower blooms they know, · Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!" "Content thee, boy! in my bower to dwell, Harps which the wandering breezes tune; "My mother sings, at the twilight's fall, 66 Thy mother is gone from her cares to rest, She hath taken the babe on her quiet breast; Thou wouldst meet her footstep, my boy, no more, Nor hear her song at the cabin-door. Come thou with me to the vineyards nigh, And we 'll pluck the grapes of the richest dye." "Is mother Or they launch their boats where the bright streams flow, Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!" "Fair child! thy brothers are wanderers now, They sport no more on the mountain's brow, They have left the fern by the spring's green side, And the streams where the fairy barks were tried. Be thou at peace in thy brighter lot, For thy cabin home is a lonely spot.” "Are they gone, all gone from the sunny hill? But the bird and the blue fly rove o'er it still, And the red deer bound in their gladness free, And the turf is bent by the singing bee, And the waters leap, and the fresh winds blow, — Lady, kind lady! O, let me go!" PSALM CXLVIII. VERSIFIED BY SANDYS, BORN IN 1577. You who dwell above the skies, You whom highest heaven embowers, Heaven of heavens, his praise declare! His, who made you by his word, Set your bounds not to be past. Let the earth his praise resound! Monstrous whales, and seas profound, Vapors, lightning, hail, and snow, Storms, which, when he bids them, blow; Flowery hills, and mountains high, PEACE OF MIND. - From Old English Poetry. My mind to me a kingdom is; That God or nature hath assigned; Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live, this is my stay; I I seek no more than may suffice; press to bear no haughty sway; Look what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, |