And as the Spirit spake, the star of light
Above his head grew gloriously bright;
And I beheld a countenance divine,
Full of compassion, awful, yet benign!
Then did the angels vanish, and with tears
I pray'd that I might so employ the years

That Life should give, that with my parting breath I might reclaim the promises of Death.

-Good Words, 1860.

C. S. J.

SONG OF THE HAYMAKERS.

THE noontide is hot and our foreheads are brown; Our palms are all shining and hard;

Right close is our work with the wain and the fork, And but poor is our daily reward.

But there's joy in the sunshine, and mirth in the lark That skims whistling away over head ;

Our spirits are light, though our skins may be dark, And there's peace with our meal of brown bread.

We dwell in the meadows, we toil on the sward,
Far away from the city's dull gloom;
And more jolly are we, though in rags we may be,
Than the pale faces over the loom.

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack,
Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers and rakers, and merry haymakers,
And the beautiful midsummer sky!

Come forth, gentle ladies-come forth, dainty sirs,
And lend us your presence awhile;

Your garments will gather no stain from the burs,
And a freckle won't tarnish your smile.

Our carpet's more soft for your delicate feet
Than the pile of your velveted floor!
And the air of our balm-swath is surely as sweet
As the perfume of Araby's shore.

Come forth, noble masters, come forth to the field,
Where freshness and health may be found;
Where the wind-rows are spread for the butterfly's bed,
And the clover-bloom falleth around.

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack, Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers and rakers, and merry haymakers, And the beautiful midsummer sky!

"Hold fast!" cries the waggoner, loudly and quick, And then comes the hearty "Gee-wo!"

While the cunning old team-horses manage to pick A sweet mouthful to munch as they go.

The tawny-faced children come round us to play,
And bravely they scatter the heap;

Till the tiniest one, all outspent with the fun,
Is curl'd up with the sheep-dog, asleep.

Old age sitteth down on the haycock's fair crown,
At the close of our labouring day;

And wishes his life, like the grass at his feet,
May be pure at its "passing away."

Then a song and a cheer for the bonnie green stack, Climbing up to the sun wide and high;

For the pitchers and rakers, and merry haymakers, And the beautiful midsummer sky!

ELIZA COOK, 1818

HUMILITY.

THE bird that soars on highest wing,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest:
-In lark and nightingale we see
What honour hath humility.

When Mary chose the "better part,"

She meekly sat at Jesus' feet;

And Lydia's gently-open'd heart

Was made for God's own temple meet.

-Fairest and best adorn'd is she
Whose clothing is humility.

The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown,

In deepest adoration bends;

The weight of glory bows him down,

Then most when most his soul ascends;

-Nearest the throne itself must be

The footstool of Humility.

JAMES MONTGOMERY, 1771-1854.

BELIEVE IN GOD.

"GOD, my brothers, will not leave us,
Still His heaven is o'er us bent;
His commandments are not grievous,
Do His will and be content.
Only Truth and Love shall flourish,
In the end, beloved mates;

Only Charity can nourish

Those whom Charity creates.

Believe in God.

"You have wrongs by forge and furnace,

You have darkness, you have dread;

But you work in radiant harness,

And your God is overhead.

Does not night bring forth the morning?
Does not darkness father light?
Even now we have forewarning,
Brothers, of the close of night.

66

Believe in God.

Many, many are the shadows That the dawn of truth reveals; Beautiful on life's broad meadows Is the light the Christian feels. Evil shall give place to goodness, Wrong be dispossess'd by right;

Out of old chaotic rudeness

God evokes a world of light.

Believe in God.

"Do ye toil? Oh, freer, firmer,

Ye shall grow beneath your toil;

Only craven spirits murmur,

Lightly rooted in the soil.

Through the gloom and through the darkness,
Through the danger and the dole,
Through the mist and through the murkness
Travels the great human soul.

Believe in God.

"Ye have often read the story
Of the Hero of our race,
How the gloom outran the glory

And the wrath outran the grace;