SONG OF LIFE.

A TRAVELLER on a dusty road
Strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up,

And grew into a tree.

Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows,

And Age was pleased, in heights of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.

The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,

The birds sweet music bore

It stood a glory in its place,

A blessing evermore.

A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern—
A passing stranger scooped a well
Where weary men might turn.

He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle on the brink;

He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.

He passed again; and lo! the well,
By summer never dried,

Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues,
And saved a life beside.

A nameless man, amid the crowd,
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied, from the heart.

A whisper on the tumult thrown,
A transitory breath,

It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death.

O germ! O fount! O word of love!
Ō thought at random cast!

Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.

THE PET LAMB.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, “Drink, pretty creature, drink!”
And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain lamb with a maiden at its side.
No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone,
With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel,
While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal.
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears, and his tail with
pleasure shook.

Now with her empty can the maiden turned away,

But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
"What ails thee, young one, what? why pull so at thy
cord?

Is it not well with thee, well both for bed and board ?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ;
Rest, little young one, rest, what is't that aileth thee?
Rest, little young one, rest; hast thou forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away?
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by

none;

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home : A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast, the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran :

And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
Why bleat so after me, why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again."
WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850.

ONE BY ONE.

ONE by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going,
Do not strive to grasp them all.

One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each;
Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn thou first what those can teach.

One by one (bright gifts of Heaven),
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready, too, to let them go.

One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armed band;
One will fade as others greet thee,
Shadows passing through the land.

Do not look at life's long sorrow;
See how small each moment's pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.

Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task, to do or bear;
Luminous the crown and holy,
When each gem is kept with care.

Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

Hours are golden links, God's token
Reaching heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

A. A. PROCTER, 1835-1864.

FATHER WILLIAM.

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "The few locks which are left you are grey; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; Now tell me the reason, I pray?"

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth would fly fast, And abused not my health and my vigour at first, That I never might want them at last."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away,

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?

"In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away :

You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray?

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied, "Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remembered my God,
And He hath not forgotten my age!”

ROBERT SOUTHEY, 1774-1843.

WRITTEN UNDER MILTON'S PICTURE.
THREE poets in three different ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn :
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next in majesty; in both the last.
The force of Nature could no further go,
To make a third she joined the other two.
DRYDEN, 1615-1668.