Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white,
Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils
Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks,
Nor, shower'd from ev'ry bush, the damask rose;
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,

With hues on hues expression cannot paint,
The breath of nature and her endless bloom.

GARDEN LECTURE.

EVANS.

AMID my garden's broider'd paths I trod,

And there my mind soon caught her favourite clue; I seem'd to stand amid the church of God,

And flowers were preachers, and (still stranger) drew From their own life and course

The love they would enforce,

And sound their doctrine was, and every precept true.

And first the Sunflower spake. Behold, he said,
How I unweariedly from dawn to night

Turn to the wheeling sun my golden head,
And drink into my disk fresh draughts of light,
O mortal! look and learn;

So, with obedient turn,

From womb to grave pursue the Sun of life and might.

And next I heard the lowly Camomile,

Who, as I trod on him with reckless feet, And wrang his perfume out, cried, List awhile E'en thus with charity the proud one greet. And, as insulters press,

E'en turn thou thus and bless,

And yield from each heart's bruise a redolence more sweet.

Then from his rocky pulpit I heard cry

The Stonecrop. See how loose to earth I grow,
And draw my juicy nurture from the sky.

So drive not thou, fond man, thy root too low;
But, loosely clinging here,

From God's supernal sphere

Draw life's unearthly food, catch heaven's undying glow.

Then preach'd the humble Strawberry. Behold

The lowliest and least adorn'd of flowers

Lies at thy feet; yet lift my leafy fold,

And fruit is there unfound in gaudier bowers.
So plain be thou, and meek,

And when vain man shall seek,

Unveil the blooming fruit of solitary hours.

Then cried the Lily: Hear my mission next.
On me thy Lord bade ponder and be wise;
Oh! wan with toil, with care and doubt perplext,
Survey my joyous bloom, my radiant dyes.
My hues no vigils dim,

All care I cast on Him

Who more than faith can ask each hour to faith supplies.

The Thistle warn'd me last; for, as I tore

The intruder up, it cried, Rash man, take heed! In me thou hast thy type. Yea, pause and poreEven as thou, doth God his vineyard weed; Deem not each worthier plant

For thee shall waste and want,

Nor fright with hostile spines thy Master's chosen seed.

Then cried the garden's host with one consent:
Come, man, and see how, day by day, we shoot,
For every hour of rain, and sunshine lent,

Deepen our glowing hues, and drive our root;

And, as our heads we lift,

Record each added gift,

And bear to God's high will, and man's support, our fruit.

O Leader thou of earth's exulting quire,

Thou with a first-born's royal rights endued,

Wilt thou alone be dumb? alone desire

Renew'd the gifts so oft in vain renew'd?
Then sicken, fret, and pine,

As on thy head they shine,

And wither 'mid the bliss of boundless plenitude?

Oh, come! and, as thy due, our concert lead.
Glory to him, the Lord of life and light,

Who nursed our tender leaf, our colours spread,
And gave thy body mind, the first-born's right,
By which thy flight may cleave

The starry pole, and leave

Thy younger mates below in death's unbroken night.

GARDEN THOUGHTS.

MONTGOMERY.

Written on occasion of a Ladies' Bazaar, in aid of the Church Mis sionary Society, being held in the garden-grounds of a benevolent family resident on the banks of the Yorkshire Ouse.

In a garden-Man was placed,
Meet abode for innocence;

With his Maker's image graced:
Sin crept in, and drove him thence,
Through the world, a wretch undone,
Seeking rest and finding none.

In a garden,—On that night
When our Saviour was betray'd,
With what world-redeeming might,
In his agony he pray'd!

Till he drank the vengeance up,
And with mercy fill'd the cup.

In a garden, on the cross,

When the spear his heart had riven,
And for earth's primeval loss

Heaven's own ransom had been given,

Jesus rested from his woes,

Jesus from the dead arose.

Here, not Eden's bowers are found,

Nor the lone Gethsemane,

Nor the calm sepulchral ground

At the foot of Calvary :

But this scene may well recall
Sweet remembrances of all.

Emblem of the church below!
Where the Spirit and the Word
Fall like dew, like breezes blow;
And the Lord God's voice is heard,
Walking in the cool of day,
When the world is far away:

Emblem of the church above,
Where, amidst their native clime,
In the garden of his love,

Rescued from the storms of time,
Saints, as trees of life, shall stand,
Planted by the Lord's right hand:

Round the fair enclosure here,
Flames no cherub's threatening sword;
Ye who enter! feel no fear:

Roof'd by heaven, with verdure floor'd,
Breathing balm from blossoms gay,
This be Paradise to-day!

Yet one moment meditate

On that dreary banishment,

When from Eden's closing gate,
Hand in hand, our parents went;
Spikenard-groves no more to dress,
But a thorny wilderness.