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iful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? Beautiful, tender--what else? A hope tells. Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee In the land of home together, past death and sea; No more change or death, no more Salt sea-shore. DE PROFUNDIS. Oh why is heaven built so far, Oh why is earth set so remote? I cannot reach the nearest star That hangs afloat. I would not care to reach the moon, One round monotonous of change; Yet even she repeats her tune Beyond my range. I never watch the scattered fire Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, But all my heart is one desire, And all in vain: For I am bound with fleshly bands, Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, And catch at hope. TEMPUS FUGIT. Lovely Spring, A brief sweet thing, Is swift on the wing; Gracious Summer, A slow sweet comer, Hastens past; Autumn while sweet Is all incomplete With a moaning blast,-- Nothing can last, Can be cleaved unto, Can be dwelt upon; It is hurried through, It is come and gone, Undone it cannot be done, It is ever to do, Ever old, ever new, Ever waxing old And lapsing to Winter cold. GOLDEN GLORIES. The buttercup is like a golden cup, The marigold is like a golden frill, The daisy with a golden eye looks up, And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, And gay and golden nods the daffodil, The gorsey common swells a golden sea, The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, And golden drips the honey which the bee Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips. JOHNNY. FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION. Johnny had a golden head Like a golden mop in blow, Right and left his curls would spread In a glory and a glow, And they framed his honest face Like stray sunbeams out of place. Long and thick, they half could hide How threadbare his patched jacket hung; They used to be his Mother's pride; She praised them with a tender tongue, And stroked them with a loving finger That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger. On a doors
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