The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry, And scarcely heard so high, The dashing waters when the air is still, From many a torrent rill That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell. Tracked by the blue mist well: Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart, For Thought to do her part. 'Tis then we hear the voice of God within, Pleading with care and sin; "Child of my love! how have I wearied thee? Why wilt thou err from me? Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves; Parted the drowning waves, And sent my saints before thee in the way, Lest And well it is for us our God should feel Alone our secret throbbings: so our prayer thou should'st faint or May readier spring to heaven, nor stray? spend its zeal Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, Thou who canst love us, though thou read us true, As on the bosom of the aerial lawn Melts in dim haze each coarse un gentle hue. So too may soothing hope thy leave enjoy Sweet visions of long severed hearts to frame: Though absence may impair, or cares annoy, Some constant mind may draw us still the same. What shapeless form, half lost on high, Half seen against the evening sky, Where in her shadow, fast asleep, Lies fallen imperial pride? With half-closed eye a lion there Or prowls in twilight gloom. Sprang from rough ocean's womb. But where are now his eagle wings, That sheltered erst a thousand kings, Hiding the glorious sky SINCE ALL THAT IS NOT HEAVEN From half the nations, till they own No holier name, no mightier throne? That vision is gone by. Quenched is the golden statue's ray, The breath of heaven has blown away What toiling earth had piled, Scattering wise heart and crafty hand, As breezes strew on ocean's sand, Divided thence through every age Thrice only since, with blended might The nations on that haughty height Now the fierce Bear and Leopard keen Are perished as they ne'er had been, Oblivion is their home: Ambition's boldest dream and last Must melt before the clarion blast That sounds the dirge of Rome. HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL. GOOD NEWS. A BEE flew in at my window, He came like a herald of summertime. And what do you think he said? TROUBLE TO LEND. TO-MORROW has trouble to lend Go, borrow it, borrow, griefless heart, And thou with thy peace wilt pay! "As sure as the roses shall blos-To-morrow has trouble to lend, som " "As sure as the water-lilies Shall float like a fairy fleet; An endless, endless store; But I have as much as heart can hold, Why should I borrow more! HELIOTROPE. SWEETEST, Sweetest, Heliotrope! To the subtle spells that bind me: As sure as the torrent shall leap the The dim air swimmeth in my sight rocks With foamy, fantastic feet; "As sure as the bobolink's carol And the plaint of the whippoorwill Shall gladden the morning, and sadden the night, And the crickets pipe loud and shrill; "So sure to the heart of the maiden Who hath loved and sorrowed long, Glad tidings shall bring the summer of joy With bursting of blossom and song!" A seer as well as a herald! For while I sat weeping to-day, The tenderest, cheeriest letter came From Lionel far away. Good news! O little bee-prophet, Your words I will never forget! It may be foolish,—that dear, old sign. But Lionel's true to me yet! With visions vague of soft delight; Shadowy hands with endless chain Of purple-clustered bloom enwind |