SUNDAY. Herbert. O DAY most calm, most bright, The fruit of this, the next world's bud, The endorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a Friend, and with his blood; The couch of Time; Care's balm and bay; The week were dark, but for thy light; The other days and thou Make up one man, whose face thou art, The working days are the back part, The burden of the week lies there, Man had straightforward gone And turn us round to look on One Whom, if we were not very dull, We could not choose but look on still, Since there is no place so alone The which he doth not fill. Sundays the pillars are On which heaven's palace arched lies; They are the fruitful beds and borders In God's rich garden; that is bare The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on Time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal, glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope; Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope. Thou art a day of mirth; And where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven, Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, Fly hand in hand to heaven! STANZAS. Wordsworth. Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest, The smoothest seas will sometimes prove, To the confiding bark, untrue; And, if she trust the stars above, The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread, But thou art true, incarnate Lord! Who didst vouchsafe for man to die; Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word I bent before thy gracious throne, And ask'd for peace with suppliant knee ; And peace was given,-nor peace alone, But faith, and hope, and ecstacy, TRUE FRIENDSHIP. Jane Taylor. BLIND to ourselves,-to others not less blind, But this is rash-Experience would confess SAUL. By G. M. Bell, AUTHOR OF "THE SCOTTISH MARTYR," &c. ABSTRACTED and alone sat Saul the king, Dark shadows o'er his spirit went and came, |