And full of holiness, that every look,

The greatness of her woman's soul revealing,

Unto me bringeth blessing, and a feeling

As when I read in God's own holy book.

A graciousness in giving that doth make

The small'st gift greatest, and a sense most meek

Of worthiness, that doth not fear to take

From others, but which always fears to speak

Its thanks in utterance, for the giver's sake ;

The deep religion of a thankful heart,

Which rests instinctively in Heaven's clear law

With a full peace, that never can depart

From its own steadfastness;-a holy awe

For holy things,-not those which men call holy,

But such as are revealed to the

Whether with German skies above, Or here our granite rocks among.

THE BEGGAR.

A BEGGAR through the world am I,

From place to place I wander by.
Fill up my pilgrim's scrip for me,
For Christ's sweet sake and charity!

A little of thy steadfastness,
Rounded with leafy gracefulness,
Old oak, give me,--
That the world's blasts may round
me blow,

And I yield gently to and fro, While my stout-hearted trunk below

And firm-set roots unshaken be.

Some of thy stern, unyielding might,

Enduring still through day and night

Rude tempest-shock and withering blight,

That I may keep at bay
The changeful April sky of chance
And the strong tide of circum-
stance,---

Give me, old granite gray.

Some of thy pensiveness serene,
Some of thy never-dying green,
Put in this scrip of mine,-
That griefs may fall like snow-
flakes light,

And deck me in a robe of white,
Ready to be an angel bright,-
Oh, sweetly mournful pine.

A little of thy merriment,
Of thy sparkling, light content,
Give me, my cheerful brook,
That I may still be full of glee
And gladsomeness, where'er I be,
Though fickle fate hath prisoned me
In some neglected nook.

Ye have been very kind and good To me, since I've been in the wood; Ye have gone nigh to fill my heart; But good-bye, kind friends, every

one,

Out of the stillness, with a gathering creep,

Like rising wind in leaves, which now decreases,

Now lulls, now swells, and all the while increases,

The huddling trample of a drove of sheep

Tilts the loose planks, and then as gradually ceases

In dust on the other side; life's emblem deep,

A confused noise between two silences,

Finding at last in dust precarious peace.

On the wide marsh the purple

blossomed grasses

Soak up the sunshine; sleeps the brimming tide,

Save when the wedge-shaped wake in silence passes,

Of some slow water-rat, whose sinuous glide

Wavers the long green sedge's shade from side to side; But up the west, like a rockshivered surge,

Climbs a great cloud edged with

sun-whitened spray; Huge whirls of foam boil toppling o'er its verge,

And falling still it seems, and yet it climbs alway.

The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter,

Then droop to a fitful rest; Up from the stream with sluggish flap

Struggles the gull and floats

away;

Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap,

We shall not see the sun go down to-day:

Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,

And tramples the grass with terrified feet,

The startled river turns leaden and harsh.

You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.

Look! look! that livid flash! And instantly follows the rattling thunder,

As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,

Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,

On the Earth, which crouches in silence under:

And now a solid gray wall of rain Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile;

For a breath's space I see the blue wood again,

And ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile,

That seemed but now a league aloof,

Bursts crackling o'er the sunparched roof;

Against the windows the sun comes dashing,

Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing,

The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes, The white waves are tumbling, And, in one baffled roar, Like the toothless sea mumbling A rock-bristled shore, The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling,Will silence return nevermore?

Hush! Still as death,
The tempest holds his breath