. IV_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Nature! great parent! whose unceasing hand
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year;
How mighty, how majestic are thy works!
_The Seasons: Winter_. J. THOMSON.

Every sound is sweet;
Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,
The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
And murmuring of innumerable bees.
_The Princess, Canto VII_. A. TENNYSON.

I trust in Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And Autumn garner to the end of time.
I trust in God--the right shall he the right
And other than the wrong, while he endures;
I trust in my own soul, that can perceive
The outward and the inward, Nature's good
And God's.
_A Soul Tragedy, Act_ i. R. BROWNING.

I care not, Fortune, what you me deny;
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace,
You cannot shut the windows of the sky,
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face;
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve.
_The Castle of Indolence, Canto II_. J. THOMSON.

Who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
_The Seasons: Spring_. J. THOMSON.

For Art may err, but Nature cannot miss.
_The Cock and Fox_. J. DRYDEN.

The course of nature is the art of God.
_Night Thoughts, Night IX_. DR. E. YOUNG.

'Tis elder Scripture, writ by God's own hand:
Scripture authentic! uncorrupt by man.
_Night Thoughts, Night IX_. DR. E. YOUNG.

Nature, the vicar of the almightie Lord.
_Assembly of Foules_. CHAUCER.

To the solid ground
Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
_Miscellaneous Sonnets_. W. WORDSWORTH.

NIGHT.

Darkness now rose,
As daylight sunk, and brought in low'ring Night,
Her shadowy offspring.
_Paradise Regained, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

Now black and deep the Night begins to fall,
A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching gloom,
Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth.
Order confounded lies; all beauty void,
Distinction lost, and gay variety
One universal blot: such the fair power
Of light, to kindle and create the whole.
_The Seasons: Autumn_. J. THOMSON.

How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-o