Flower of the solitary place! Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er, The clangour of the field is fled, The beacon on the hill No more through midnight blazes red— Whither hath fled the choral band In the belfry's crevices the dove Her young brood nurseth well, Whilst thou, lone flower, dost shed above A sweet decaying smell. In the season of the tulip cup, When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up, And scent thee on the breeze. And on the hawthorn by the road Sweet wall-flower, sweet wall-flower! Thou conjurest up to me Full many a soft and sunny hour And summer skies were far more blue Now autumn's pensive voice is heard The robin is the regal bird, And thou the Queen of Flowers! And Araby ne'er gave the breeze Rich is the pink, the lily gay, But wall-flower, loved wall-flower, Thou art the flower for me! De Moir. A SCHOOL BOY'S CHRISTMAS CAROL. LAST night I lay a sleeping, When all my prayers were said, A song for Christian boys to sing Thy body be at rest, dear boy! I'll shield thee from the worlds annoy, The holy Christmas tide is nigh, The season of Christ's birth; Glory be to God on high! And peace to men on earth. Myself, and all the heavenly host, And peace to men on earth. The shepherds heard at Bethlehem Of a Saviour who was born for them, Glory be to God on high And peace to men on earth. And thou shalt now the self-same sight I'll sing the self-same song to-night, And mingle in thy mirth; Glory be to God on high, And peace to men on earth. Though many a rule be taught in school, Example is the best ; One boy of truth and spotless youth, How doth he guide the rest! Then take a lesson with thy eye, And look on Jesus's birth. Glory be to God on high, And peace to men on earth. He bowed to all His father's will, And, year by year, His thoughts were still Most innocent and holy. He did not come to strive or cry, But ever from His birth, Gave glory unto God on high And peace to men on earth. Like Him be true, like Him be pure, Seek not thine own, and so secure And still when Christmas tide draws nigh, Glory be to God on high And peace to men on earth. M. REJOICING IN HOPE. I THANK Thee I am not mine own, 'Tis blest to breathe in Thy sure love- Whate'er may come, it is all Thine, Onward still-and on I go Receive this offering which I bring, Williams. ANGEL VISITS. WHAT mean these strange unearthly sounds, And as around my couch they float, There strange mysterious harmonies, They are the minstrelsy of Heaven; No fairy harp is it—but music sweet, That hover round the things of earth, And cheer man on his heavenward way. W. B. Flower. THE DEAD. THE dead alone are great! While heavenly plants abide on earth, The soil is one of dewless dearth; But when they die, a mourning shower Comes down and makes their memories flower With odours sweet though late. The dead alone are fair! While they are with us, strange lines play Before our eyes, and chase away God's light: but let them pale and die, The dead alone are dear! While they are here, long shadows fall And they are bright and clear. |