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EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. 299

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 sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake, oh! happy to have given The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven!

COURSE OF TIME.

POLLOCK.

[EXTRACT.]

. . . And who

Shall tell what strange variety of bliss

Burst on the infant soul, when first it looked
Abroad on God's creation fair, and saw
The glorious earth and glorious heaven, and face
Of man sublime, and saw all new, and felt

All new! when thought awoke, thought never more
To sleep! when first it saw, heard, reasoned, willed,
And triumphed in the warmth of conscious life!

Nor happy only, but the cause of joy,
Which those who never tasted always mourned.
What tongue!-no tongue shall tell what bliss o'er-
flowed

The mother's tender heart, while round her hung
The offspring of her love, and lisped her name,
As living jewels dropped unstained from heaven,
That made her fairer far, and sweeter seem,

Than every ornament of costliest hue!

And who hath not been ravished, as she passed
With all her playful band of little ones,

Like Luna, with her daughters of the sky,
Walking in matron-majesty and grace?

All who had hearts, here pleasure found; and oft
Have I, when tired with heavy task,-for tasks
Were heavy in the world below,―relaxed
My weary thoughts among their guiltless sports,
And led them by their little hands afield,

And watched them run and crop the tempting flower,

Which oft, unasked, they brought me, and bestowed
With smiling face, that waited for a look

Of praise, and answered curious questions, put
In much simplicity, but ill to solve;

And heard their observations strange and new,
And settled whiles their little quarrels, soon
Ending in peace, and soon forgot in love.
And still I looked upon their loveliness,
And sought through nature for similitudes
Of perfect beauty, innocence and bliss,
And fairest imagery around me thronged;
Dewdrops at day-spring on a seraph's locks,

Roses that bathe about the well of life,

Young loves, young hopes, dancing on morning's cheek,

Gems leaping in the coronet of love!

So beautiful, so full of life, they seemed
As made entire of beams of angels' eyes.
Gay, guileless, sportive, lovely little things!
Playing around the den of sorrow, clad
In smiles, believing in their fairy hopes,
And thinking man and woman true! all joy,
Happy all day, and happy all the night!

THE DYING BOY.

ANONYMOUS.

Ir must be sweet in childhood, to give back
The spirit to its Maker; ere the heart
Hath grown familiar with the paths of sin,
And sown, to garner up its bitter fruits.
I knew a boy, whose infant feet had trod
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs;

And when the eighth came round and called him

out

To revel in its light, he turned away,

And sought his chamber, to lie down and die. 'T was night-he summoned his accustomed friends, And, in this wise, bestowed his last bequest:

"Mother, I'm dying now

There is deep suffocation in my breast,
As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed;
And on my brow

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