Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye
Look through its fringes to the sky,
Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall
A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see
The hour of death draw near to me,
Hope, blossoming within my heart,
May look to heaven as I depart.

I speak not to thee of the gorgeous sunsets and of those piles of massy
clouds of living and ever-varying colours on which the Day pillows himself
to rest in a luxurious repose; but open thine heart upon the Eastern bank
of the Hudson at the grey of morning, and look with the Sun upon the
opposite shore; and as the mists arise and are dispelled from before thee,
there shall come change after change of colour neutral and calm and slowly
warming into beauty, until a violet haze shall rest upon the hill-tops and
the cliffs that might outvie the golden haze of Italy, and that shall
raise thy thoughts in silent thankfulness, and educate thee to enjoy the
untold treasuries of colour that glow in upper Heaven; and hope shall
spring forth renewed within thee; and sorrow shall fade from thy widowed,
or thy childless heart; the peace which passeth understanding shall come
over thee; and GOD even thine own GOD shall bless thee; and to thine eyes,
now opened to the wonders of His goodness, all the ends of the Earth shall
_shew forth_ His praise!

JOHN WATERS.

STANZAS

SUGGESTED BY GLIDDON'S LECTURES ON THE ANTIQUITIES OF EGYPT.

MISS H. J. WOODMAN

Sublime hath been thy conquest o'er the past,
Stemming Oblivion's torrent by thy might,
Reading symbolic records long o'ercast
By the deep shadows of unbroken night;
Tracing with reverent finger names of kings
That long had slumbered with forgotten things.

The mists that deeply veiled historic rays,
Thou art dispelling with resistless hand;
And dynasties that flourished ere the days
When ABRAHAM forsook the promised land,
No longer noteless, nameless, boldly claim
Their lofty tablet in the arch of fame.

Thy curious finger with a magic key
Unlocked the store of ages, and the light,
Flooding the pass of time, sublime and free,
Decks ruined temples in its vesture bright:
These are the relics of _thy_ grandeur flown,
Land of the Pharaohs and their prostrate throne.

Ere the white stranger's land had trodden been