R

17. THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

EGION of life and light!

Land of the good whose earthly toils are

o'er!

No frost nor heat may blight

Thy vernal beauty, fertile shore,

Yielding thy blessed fruits forevermore!

There without crook or sling

Walks the Good Shepherd. Blossoms white and

red

Round his meek temples cling;
And, to sweet pastures led,

His own loved flock beneath his eye is fed.
He guides, and near him they
Follow delighted; for he makes them go
Where dwells eternal May,
And heavenly roses blow

Deathless, and gathered but again to grow.
He leads them to the height
Named of the infinite and long-sought good,
And fountains of delight;

And where his feet have stood

Springs up along the way their tender food;
And when in the mid skies

The climbing sun has reached his highest bound,
Reposing as he lies

With all his flock around,

He witches the still air with numerous sound.

From his sweet lute flow forth

Immortal harmonies, of power to still
All passions born of earth,
And draw the ardent will

Its destiny of goodness to fulfil.

Might but a little part,

A wandering breath, of that high melody
Descend into my heart,

And change it till it be

Transformed and swallowed up, O Love! in thee,

Ah! then my soul should know,

Beloved, where thou liest at noon of day,
And, from this place of woe
Released, should take its way

To mingle with thy flock, and never stray.

W. C. Bryant (from the Spanish).

F

18. A THANKSGIVING.

OR the wealth of pathless forests,
Whereon no axe may fall;

For the winds that haunt the branches,
The young bird's timid call;
For the red leaves dropped like rubies
Upon the dark-green sod;
For the waving of the forests, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For the sound of waters gushing
In bubbling beads of light;
For the fleets of snow-white lilies
Firm-anchored out of sight;

For the reeds among the eddies,
The crystal on the clod;

For the flowing of the rivers, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For the rosebud's break of beauty
Along the toiler's way;

For the violet's eye, that opens
To bless the new-born day;
For the bare twigs, that in summer
Bloom like the prophet's rod;
For the blossoming of flowers, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For the lifting-up of mountains,
In brightness and in dread;
For the peaks where snow and sunshine
Alone have dared to tread;

For the dark of silent gorges,
Whence mighty cedars nod;
For the majesty of mountains,
I thank thee, O my God!

For the splendor of the sunsets,
Vast mirrored on the sea;

For the gold-fringed clouds, that curtain
Heaven's inner mystery;

For the molten bars of twilight,

Where thought leans, glad, yet awed;

For the glory of the sunsets, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For the earth, and all its beauty;
The sky, and all its light;
For the dim and soothing shadows
That rest the dazzled sight;
For unfading fields and prairies,
Where sense in vain has trod;
For the world's exhaustless beauty, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For an eye of inward seeing;
A soul to know and love;
For these common aspirations,
That our high heirship prove;
For the hearts that bless each other
Beneath thy smile, thy rod:
For the amaranth saved from Eden, -
I thank thee, O my God!

For the hidden scroll o'erwritten
With one dear Name adored;
For the heavenly in the human,
The Spirit in the Word;
For the tokens of thy presence
Within, above, abroad;
For thine own great gift of Being, -
I thank thee, O my God!"

From Lucy Larcom's Poems.

I

19. GRASS AND ROSES.

LOOKED where the roses were blowing; They stood among grasses and reeds : I said, "Where such beauties are growing, Why suffer these paltry weeds?”

Weeping, the poor things faltered,
"We have neither beauty nor bloom:
We are grass in the roses' garden;
But our Master gives us this room.

"The slaves of a generous Master,
Born from a world above,
We came to this place in his wisdom;
We stay to this hour from his love.

"We have fed his humblest creatures;
We have served him truly and long:
He gave no grace to our features;
We have neither color nor song.

"Yet He who has made the roses
Placed us on the selfsame sod;
He knows our reason for being:
We are grass in the garden of God."

UP

James Freeman Clarke.

20. ΤΟ A SKYLARK.

TP with me, up with me, into the clouds! For thy song, lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds,

Singing, singing!

With clouds and sky about thee ringing,
Lift me, guide me, till I find
That spot which seems so to thy mind.

I have walked through wildernesses dreary,

And to-day my heart is weary:

Had I now the wings of a fairy,
Up to thee would I fly.