* 49

THE LOST LOVE.

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,1

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love :

A violet by a mossy stone,
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh

The difference to me!

W. WORDSWORTH.

* 50 *

HOW THE GATES CAME AJAR.

I.

'TWAS whispered one morning in heaven How the little child-angel May,

In the shade of the great white portal,2 Sat sorrowing night and day;

1 Dove, a river of England, which empties into the Trent. 2 portal, passage-way.

How she said to the stately warden,1 He of the key and bar,

"O angel, sweet angel, I pray you, Set the beautiful gates ajar!

"I can hear my mother weeping;
She is lonely, she cannot see
A glimmer of light in the darkness,
Where the gates shut after me.
Oh! turn me the key, sweet angel,
The splendor will shine so far!"
But the warden answered, "I dare not
Set the beautiful gates ajar.”

II.

Then rose up Mary the blessed,
Sweet Mary, mother of Christ;
Her hand on the hand of the angel
She laid, and her touch sufficed:
Turned was the key in the portal,
Fell ringing the golden bar;
And lo! in the little child's fingers
Stood the beautiful gates ajar.

"And this key, for further using
To my blessed Son shall be given,"
Said Mary, mother of Jesus,

Tenderest heart in heaven. Now, never a sad-eyed mother

1 warden, one who keeps guard or ward.

But may catch the glory afar, Since safe in the Lord Christ's bosom Are the keys of the gates ajar,— Close hid in the dear Christ's bosom, And the gates forever ajar!

* 51 *

SOWING.

ARE we sowing the seeds of kindness? They shall blossom bright ere long; Are we sowing the seeds of discord?1 They shall ripen into wrong;

Are we sowing seeds of honor?

They shall bring forth golden grain ; Are we sowing seeds of falsehood? We shall yet reap bitter pain: - Whatso'er our sowing be, Reaping, we its fruits shall see.

We can never be too careful

What the seed our hands shall sow;

Love from love is sure to ripen ;

2

Hate from hate is sure to grow.
Seeds of good or ill we scatter
Heedlessly along our way;
But a glad or grievous fruitage 2
Waits us at the harvest day.
-Whatso'er our sowing be,
Reaping, we its fruits must see.

1 discord, strife.

2 fruitage, fruit collectively.

* 52 *

SEEDS AND FRUITS.

WE scatter seeds with careless hand,
And dream we ne'er shall see them more;
But for a thousand years

Their fruit appears

In seeds that mar the land,

Or healthful store!

The deeds we do, the words we say,
Into still air they seem to fleet;
We count them ever past;
But they shall last:

In the dread Judgment they

And we shall meet.

J. KEBLE.

* 53 *

THE BETTER LAND.

"I HEAR thee speak of the Better Land;
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother, oh, where is that radiant shore?
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle

boughs?

?

"Not there, not there, my child!”

"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
"Not there, not there, my child."

"Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand? Is it there, dear mother, that Better Land?" "Not there, not there, my child.

"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy;
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair;
Sorrow and Death may not enter there;
Time does not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"

FELICIA HEMANS.