SUMMER LONGINGS.

AH! my heart is weary waiting,
Waiting for the May-

Waiting for the pleasant rambles,

Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles,
With the woodbine alternating,

Scent the dewy way.

Ah! my heart is weary waiting,
Waiting for the May.

Ah! my heart is sick with longing,
Longing for the May-

Longing to escape from study,

To the young face fair and ruddy,

And the thousand charms belonging

To the summer's day.

Ah! my heart is sick with longing,

Longing for the May.

Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,
Sighing for the May-

Sighing for their sure returning,

When the summer beams are burning,

Hopes and flowers, that dead or dying,

All the winter lay.

Ah! my heart is sore with sighing,

Sighing for the May.

Ah! my heart is pained with throbbing,

Throbbing for the May

Throbbing for the sea-side billows,

Or the water-wooing willows;

Where in laughing and in sobbing,

Glide the streams away.

Ah! my heart, my heart is throbbing,
Throbbing for the May.

Waiting sad, dejected, weary,

Waiting for the May.

Spring goes by with wasted warnings-
Moon-lit evenings, sun-bright mornings—
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary

Life still ebbs away;

Man is ever weary, weary,

Waiting for the May!

ANONYMOUS.

EVENING THOUGHTS.

"TWAS eve. The length'ning shadows of the oak
And weeping birch, swept far adown the vale;
And nought upon the hush and stillness broke,
Save the light whisp'ring of the spring-tide gale
At distance dying; and the measured stroke

Of woodmen at their toil; the feeble wail
Of some lone stock-dove, soothing, as it sank
On the lulled ear, its melody that drank.

The sun had set; but his expiring beams

Yet lingered in the west, and shed around Beauty and softness o'er the wood and streains,

With coming night's first tinge of shade imbrowned. The light clouds mingled, brightened with such gleams Of glory as the seraph-shapes surround,

That in the vision of the good descend,
And o'er their couch of sorrow seem to bend.

'Tis thus in solitude; but sweeter far,

By those we love, in that all-soft'ning hour, To watch with mutual eyes each coming star,

And the faint moon-rays streaming through our bower Of foliage, wreathed and trembling, as the car Of night rolls duskier onward, and each flower And shrub that droops above us, on the sense Seems dropping fragrance more and more intense.

ANONYMOUS.

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HAVE NOT SEEN, AND YET HAVE BELIEVED."

WE saw thee not, when Thou didst tread,

O Saviour, this our sinful earth;

Nor heard thy voice restore the dead,
And waken them to second birth;
Yet we believe that Thou didst come,
And quit for us thy glorious home.

We were not with the faithful few,
Who stood thy bitter cross around;
Nor heard thy prayer for those who slew,
Nor felt that earthquake rock the ground.
We saw no spear-wound pierce thy side,
But we believe that Thou hast died.

No angel's message met our ear,
On that first glorious Easter day;

"The Lord is risen. He is not here;
"Come see the place where Jesus lay."
But we believe that Thou didst quell
The banded powers of death and hell.

We saw Thee not return on high;
And now, our longing sight to bless,
No ray of glory from the sky
Shines down upon our wilderness;

But we believe that Thou art there,
And seek Thee, Lord, in praise and prayer.

ANONYMOUS.

PRAYER.

Go when the morning shineth,
Go when the noon is bright,

Go when the day declineth,
Go in the hush of night.
Go with pure mind and feeling,
Fling earthly thoughts away,
And in thy chamber kneeling,
Do thou in secret pray.

Remember all who love thee,
All who are loved by thee;
Pray too for those who hate thee,
If any such there be.
Then for thyself in meekness
A blessing humbly claim,
And link with each petition,

Thy great Redeemer's name.

Or if 'tis e'er denied thee

In solitude to pray,

Should holy thoughts come o'er thee,
When friends are round thy way;
Even then the silent breathing

Of thy spirit raised above,
Will reach his throne of glory,
Who is mercy, truth, and love!

Oh, not a joy or blessing

With this can we compare, The power that he hath given us To pour our souls in prayer! Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness, Before his footstool fall,

And remember in thy gladness,

His grace who gives thee all.

ANONYMOUS.

THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF.

THERE is a tongue in every leaf,

A voice in every rill

A voice that speaketh everywhere,

In flood and fire, through earth and air!

A tongue that's never still!

'Tis the Great Spirit, wide diffused

Through everything we see,
That with our spirits communeth
Of things mysterious-life and death,
Time and eternity!