Sarah Doudney.

THE LESSON OF THE WATER-MILL.

Listen to the water-mill

Through the live-long day,
How the clicking of its wheel
Wears the hours away!
Languidly the autumn wind
Stirs the forest leaves,
From the fields the reapers sing,
Binding up the sheaves;
And a proverb haunts my mind
As a spell is cast :

66

The mill cannot grind

With the water that is past."

Autumn winds revive no more
Leaves that once are shed,
And the sickle cannot reap
Corn once gathered;
Flows the ruffled streamlet on,
Tranquil, deep, and still;
Never gliding back again

To the water-mill;

Truly speaks that proverb old

With a meaning vast:

"The mill cannot grind

With the water that is past."

Take the lesson to thyself,

True and loving heart;

Golden youth is fleeting by,
Summer hours depart;

Learn to make the most of life,
Lose no happy day,

Time will never bring thee back,

Chances swept away! Leave no tender word unsaid,

Love, while love shall last :

'The mill cannot grind

With the water that is past."

Work while yet the daylight shines,
Man of strength and will!
Never does the streamlet glide
Useless by the mill ;

Wait not till to-morrow's sun

Beams upon thy way,

All that thou canst call thine own

Lies in thy "to-day";

Power and intellect and health

May not always last :

The mill cannot grind

With the water that is past.”

Oh, the wasted hours of life

That have drifted by!

Oh, the good that might have been,

Lost without a sigh!

Love that we might once have saved By a single word.

Thoughts conceived but never penned, Perishing unheard.

Take the proverb to thine heart,

Take and hold it fast:

"The mill cannot grind

With the water that is past.”

Augusta Webster.

1840.

THE GIFT.

O happy glow! O sun-bathed tree!
O golden-lighted river!
A love-gift has been given me,
And which of you is giver?

I came upon you something sad,
Musing a mournful measure,
Now all my heart in me is glad
With a quick sense of pleasure.

I came upon you with a heart

Half sick of life's vexed story,
And now it grows of you a part,
Steeped in your golden glory.

A smile into my heart has crept,
And laughs through all my being;

New joy into my life has leapt,
A joy of only seeing!

O happy glow! O sun-bathed tree!
O golden-lighted river !

A love-gift has been given to me,
And which of you is giver?

Arthur Cleveland Core.

1818.

THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND.

The chimes, the chimes of Motherland,
Of England green and old,

That out from fane and ivied tower
A thousand years have toll'd—
How glorious must their music be
As breaks the hallow'd day,

And calleth with a seraph's voice
A nation up to pray!

Those chimes that tell a thousand tales

Sweet tales of olden time !—

And ring a thousand memories
At vesper, and at prime:

At bridal and at burial,

For cottager and king

Those chimes those glorious Christian

chimes,

How blessedly they ring!

Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland,

Upon a Christmas morn,

Outbreaking, as the angels did,

For a Redeemer born,-
How merrily they call afar,

To cot and baron's hall,
With holly deck'd and mistletoe,
To keep the festival!

The chimes of England, how they peal
From tower and gothic pile,
Where hymn and swelling anthem fill
The dim cathedral aisle ;

Where windows bathe the holy light
On priestly heads that falls,

And stain the florid tracery

And banner-dighted walls!

And then, those Easter bells, in Spring!
Those glorious Easter chimes!
How loyally they hail thee round,
Old Queen of holy times!
From hill to hill, like sentinels
Responsively they cry,

And sing the rising of the Lord,
From vale to mountain high.

I love ye, chimes of Motherland,
With all this soul of mine,

And bless the Lord that I am sprung
Of good old English line!