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The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet familiar tone;

But the voices of the children

Will be heard in dreams alone!

And the boy that walk'd beside me,
He could not understand

Why closer in mine, ah! closer,

I press'd his warm, soft hand!

H. W. Longfellow.

EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS'

SCHOOL.

USH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp

sheds

A faint and starry radiance through the gloom, And the sweet stillness, down on bright young

heads,

With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night, in

prayer.

Gaze on 'tis lovely-childhood's lip and cheek Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought: Gaze, yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity.

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest
Lightly, when these pure orisons are done,
As birds with slumber's honeydew oppress'd,
'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun,
Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies
Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes.

Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled springs

Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;

And o'er your sleep bright shadows from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;

Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,

Is woman's tenderness, how soon her woe!

Her lot is on you, silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,
And sunless riches from affection's deep,

To pour on broken weeds, a wasted shower!

.

And to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship-therefore pray!

Her lot is on you, to be found untired,
Watching the stars out by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,
And a true heart of hope though hope be vain.
Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay,
And, oh! to love through all things-therefore pray.

And take the thought of this calm vesper time, With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime, As a street dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake, oh! happy to have given

The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto heaven!

Felicia Hemans.

HEN all the world is young, lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

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