For the summer-time is faded,

And the autumn winds have come.
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly
The last ripe hours of my heart,
For the bloom of life is withered,
And I hasten to depart.

Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate,
At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate.
Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices far away;
If they call me, I am waiting,
Only waiting to obey.

Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown;
Only waiting till the glimmer

Of the day's last beam is flown;
Then from out the gathered darkness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise,
By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread its pathway to the skies.

FRANCES LAUGHTON MACE.

I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY

I WOULD not live alway: I ask not to stay
Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way;
Where, seeking for rest, I but hover around

Like the patriarch's bird, and no resting is found;
Where Hope, when she paints her gay bow in the air,
Leaves her brilliance to fade in the night of despair,
And Joy's fleeting angel ne'er sheds a glad ray,
Save the gleam of the plumage that bears him away.

I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin,
Temptation without, and corruption within;
In a moment of strength if I sever the chain,
Scarce the victory's mine ere I'm captive again.
E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears,
And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears.
The festival trump calls for jubilant songs,
But my spirit her own miserere prolongs.

I would not live alway: no, welcome the tomb;
Immortality's lamp burns there bright 'mid the gloom.

There, too, is the pillow where Christ bowed his head
O, soft be my slumbers on that holy bed!

And then the glad morn soon to follow that night,
When the sunrise of glory shall burst on my sight,
And the full matin-song, as the sleepers arise,
To shout in the morning, shall peal through the skies.

Who, who would live alway, away from his God,
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,
Where rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns;
Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,
Their Savior and brethren transported to greet,
While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul?

That heavenly music! what is it I hear?
The notes of the harpers ring sweet on my ear.
And see soft unfolding those portals of gold,
The King all arrayed in his beauty behold!
O give me, O give me the wings of a dove!
Let me hasten my flight to those mansions above.
Ay, 't is now that my soul on swift pinions would soar,
And in ecstasy bid earth adieu evermore.

.

WILLIAM AUGUSTUS MUHLENBERG.

NEARER HOME

ONE sweetly solemn thought.

Comes to me o'er and o'er :

I'm nearer home to-day

Than I ever have been before;

Nearer my Father's house,

Where the many mansions be;

Nearer the great white throne,

Nearer the crystal sea;

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down;

Nearer leaving the cross,

Nearer gaining the crown!

But lying darkly between,

Winding down through the night,
Is the silent, unknown stream,
That leads at last to the light.

Closer and closer my steps

Come to the dread abysm:

THERE was once a boat on a billow:

Lightly she rocked to her port remote,

And the foam was white in her wake like snow,

And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow,
And bent like a wand of willow.

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went curtseying over the billow,

I marked her course till, a dancing mote,
She faded out on the moonlit foam,

And I stayed behind in the dear loved home;
And my thoughts all day were about the boat,
And my dreams upon the pillow.

I pray you hear my song of a boat,
For it is but short :—

My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat,

In river or port.

Long I looked out for the lad she bore,

On the open desolate sea;

And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore,

For he came not back to me

Ah, me !

A SONG OF A NEST.

There was once a nest in a hollow,

Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,

Soft and warm and full to the brim;

Vetches leaned over it purple and dim;

With buttercup buds to follow.

I pray you hear my song of a nest,
For it is not long :-

You shall never light in a summer quest
The bushes among-

Shall never light on a prouder sitter,
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

I had a nestful once of my own
Ah, happy, happy I!

Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown
They spread out their wings to fly.
Oh, one after one they flew away,

Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day;
And I wish I was going, too.

I pray you, what is the nest to me,
My empty nest ?

And what is the shore where I stood to see
My boat sail down to the west ?

Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed?

Can I call that home where my nest was set,
Now all its hope hath failed?

Nay, but the port where my sailor went,

And the land where my nestlings be:

There is the home where my thoughts are sent,
The only home for me

Ah, the !

JEAN INGELOW (Songs of Seven).

MINISTRY OF ANGELS

AND is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?

There is. else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts: but O the exceeding grace Of Highest God! that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, To come to succor us that succor want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,

Against fowle feends to ayd us militant!

They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward;

Oh, why should heavenly God to men have such regard ! EDMUND SPENSER (The Faerie Queene).

NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE

NEARER, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!

E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be,—
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee !

Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!

There let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that thou sendest me
In mercy given ;
Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee !

Then with my waking thoughts,

Bright with thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs

Bethel I 'll raise;

So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!

Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot,

Upward I fly;

Still all my song shall be

Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee.

SARAH FLOWER ADAMS.