Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfill,

Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want (O, do thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy thou dost deny,

Assist me to resign.

- Robert Burns.

FROST-WORK.

HESE winter nights, against my window-pane
Nature with busy pencil draws designs

Of ferns and blossoms and fine spray of pines,
Oak-leaf and acorn and fantastic vines,

Which she will make when summer comes again,
Quaint arabesques in argent, flat and cold,
Like curious Chinese etchings.

-

By and by,

Walking my leafy garden as of old,

These frosty fantasies shall charm my eye
In azure, damask, emerald, and gold.

TH

SUNRISE.

HE point of one white star is quivering still Deep in the orange light of widening morn Beyond the purple mountains; through a chasm Of wind-divided mist the darker lake

Reflects it; now it wanes, it gleams again

As the waves fade and as the burning threads
Of woven cloud unravel in pale air;

'Tis lost! and through yon peaks of cloudlike snow

The roseate sunlight quivers.

- Percy Bysshe Shelley.

BRIGHT DAYS IN WINTER.

LAND as the morning's breath of June,

BThe southwest breezes play,

And through its haze the winter noon
Seems warm as summer's day.

The snow-plumed Angel of the North
Has dropped his icy spear;
Again the mossy earth looks forth,
Again the streams gush clear.

The fox his hillside den forsakes;
The muskrat leaves his nook;
The blue bird, in the meadow brakes,
Is singing with the brook.

"Bear up, O Mother Nature!" cry

Bird, breeze, and streamlet free,
"Our winter voices prophesy
Of summer days to thee."

So in these winters of the soul,
By wintry blasts and drear
O'erswept from Memory's frozen pole,
Will summer days appear.

Reviving hope and faith, they show
The soul its living powers,

And how beneath the winter's snow
Lie germs of summer flowers.

The Night is mother of the Day,
The Winter of the Spring;
And ever upon old decay

The greenest mosses cling.

Behind the cloud the starlight lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall,
For God, who loveth all His works,
Hath left His hope with all.

Foaming waves leapt up to meet it,

Stately pines bowed down to greet it;
While the wailing sea

And the forest's murmured sigh

Joined the cry

Of the wind that swept o'er land and sea.

The wind that blew upon the sea
Fierce and free,

Cast the bark upon the shore,

Whence it sailed the night before

Full of hope and glee.

And the cry of pain and death

Was but a breath,

Through the wind that roared upon the sea.

The wind was whispering on the lea

Tenderly;

But the white rose felt it pass,
And the fragile stalks of grass
Shook with fear to see

All her trembling petals shed,
As it fled

So gently by, the wind upon the lea.

Blow, thou wind, upon the sea,
Fierce and free,

And a gentler message send,

Where frail flowers and grasses bend,

On the sunny lea;

For thy bidding still is one,

Be it done

In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea!

- Adelaide Anne Procter.

THE WINDS OF THE WINTER.

HE winds of the winter have breathed their dirges.

Far over the wood and the leaf-strown plain;
They have passed, forlorn, by the mountain verges
Down to the shores of the moaning main;
And the breast of the smitten sea divides,
Till the voice of winds and the voice of tides
Seem blent with the roar of the central surges,
Whose fruitless furrows are sown with rain.

The pines look down, and their branches shiver
On the misty slopes of the mountain wall,
And I hear the shout of a mountain river
Through the gloom of the ghostly gorges call;
While from drifting depths of the troubled sky
Outringeth the eagle's wild reply,

So shrill that the startled echoes quiver;
And the veil of the tempest is over all.

- Paul Hamilton Hayne.

I

SONG OF THE NORTH WIND.

AM here from the North, the frozen North,
'Tis a thousand leagues away,-

And I left, as I came from my cavern forth,
The streaming lights at play.

From the deep sea's verge to the zenith high
At one vast leap they flew,

And kindled a blaze in the midnight sky

O'er the glittering icebergs blue.

The frolicsome waves they shouted to me,

As I hurriedly over them passed,

'Where are the chains that can fetter the sea?"

But I bound the boasters fast.

In their pride of strength the pine-trees tall
Of my coming took no heed;

But I bowed the proudest of them all
As if it had been a reed.

I found the tops of the mountains bare,
And I gave them a crown of snow,