PETREA.

BY MISS E. A. PECKHAM.

PETREA wandered sad and lonely, Home nor friends on earth had she; And she whispered, "There is only God in heaven to care for me."

Stormy winds blew cold and wildly,
Covered head, nor feet, had she;
But she praying, whispered mildly,
"Now the God, he trieth me!"

Darkness gathered round her slowly,
Cot, nor downy bed, had she,
But she praying, "God is holy,
And his presence guardeth me."

Hunger often tried her sadly,

Meat, nor household bread, had she, But she trusting, whispered gladly, "O, the God, he feedeth me!"

Petrea saw a happy mother,

With a child upon her knee,

And she whispered, "There's no other But my God that loveth me."

Petrea had no arms to fold her,
Gentle word, nor kiss, had she,
But she whispered, "When I'm colder,
Then God's sun it kisseth me."

When she saw the morning breaking,
Glorious views of earth had she,
And she whispered, "O the waking
Of God's earth is joy to me."

Oft she stood in wrapt devotion,

Heart of grace, and praise, had she, And she whispered to the ocean,

"God's great thought art thou to me."

Petrea saw an inner beauty,

Creed, nor any faith, had she, But she whispered, "I've a duty, Though all earth refuseth me."

Light and love possessed her being,
Holy gift of sight had she,
And she whispered, "Thus in seeing
All God's works are great, to me."

Petrea wandered, deeply thinking,
Lofty powers of thought had she,
And she whispered, "God is linking
Finite things with Deity!"

Petrea saw all space dissever,

Height, nor depth, nor breadth, knew she,

And she whispered, “God is ever
Present in all things, to me.”

Thus she wandered, good and lowly, Home, nor earthly love, had she; Ever praying, “God is holy,

And His presence guideth me."

THE GRECIAN MAIDEN.

WHERE the yellow sunlight sleepeth On the blue Egean sea;

Where the vine's rich cluster weepeth
O'er the jasmine-scented lea;
Where the blooming almond vieth
With the pure white, feathery foam

Of the dashing breakers, lyeth
Far away my island's home!

There my glad young brother playeth
Underneath the sheltering eaves;
There my gentle sister strayeth,
Shadowed by the clustering leaves;
There my mother sits and numbers
Heavily each weary day;
Weeping, e'en amid her slumbers,
For her loved one far away.

O, how happy was my childhood,

In that fair Ionian Isle,

Dell and shore and bowery wildwood

Heaven to me was in their smile;

But one fatal summer morning,

As upon the shore I stood, Watching how the glorious dawning Gilded the Egean flood,