The gabled porch, with woodbine green,

The broken millstone at the sill,

--

-

Though many a rood might stretch between, The truant child could see them still.

No rocks across the pathway lie, —

No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown, And yet it winds, we know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone.

Perhaps some lover trod the way

With shaking knees and leaping heart,

And so it often runs astray

With sinuous sweep or sudden stárt.

Or one, perchance, with clouded brain
From some unholy banquet reeled,
And since, our devious steps maintain
His track across the trodden field.

Nay, deem not thus, -no earthborn will
Could ever trace a faultless line;
Our truest steps are human still, -

To walk unswerving were divine !

Truants from love, we dream of wrath; O, rather let us trust the more! Through all the wanderings of the path, We still can see our Father's door!

THE TWO STREAMS.

BEHOLD the rocky wall

That down its sloping sides

Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall,

In rushing river-tides!

Yon stream, whose sources run
Turned by a pebble's edge,

Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun

Through the cleft mountain-ledge.

The slender rill had strayed,

But for the slanting stone,

To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid

Of foam-flecked Oregon.

So from the heights of Will

Life's parting stream descends,

And, as a moment turns its slender rill, Each widening torrent bends, —

From the same cradle's side,

From the same mother's knee, –

One to long darkness and the frozen tide,

One to the Peaceful Sea!

ROBINSON OF LEYDEN.

He sleeps not here; in hope and prayer
His wandering flock had gone before,
But he, the shepherd, might not share
Their sorrows on the wintry shore.

Before the Speedwell's anchor swung,

Ere yet the Mayflower's sail was spread, While round his feet the Pilgrims clung, The pastor spake, and thus he said:

"Men, brethren, sisters, children dear!
God calls you hence from over sea;
Ye may not build by Haerlem Meer,
Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee.