The Echo.

I STOOD on the bank of a swift-flowing river,
While I marked its clear current roll rapidly

past;

It seemed to my fancy for ever repeating,

That the dearest enjoyments of life could not last.

"Oh tell me," I said, " rapid stream of the valley, That bears in thy course the blue waters away, Can the joys of life's morning awake but to vanish? Can the feelings of love be all doomed to decay?" An Echo repeated, "All doomed to decay!"

"Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley; Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign, My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of Nature, And friendship's delights, while they yet may be mine.

Must all the sweet charms of mortality perish? And friendship's endearments, ah! will they not stay?

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The simple enchantments of soft-blooming Nature, And the pleasures of mind,-must they too fade

away?"

And Echo slow answered, "They too fade away!"

"Then where" I exclaimed, "is there hope for the

mourner,

A balm for his sorrow, a smile for his grief? If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish,

Where, where shall we seek for a certain relief?" "Oh! fly" said my soul, "to the feet of thy Saviour!

Believe in his mercy; for pardon now pray. In Him there is fulness of joy and salvation; Thy gladness shall live, and shall never decay." And Echo said sweetly, "Shall never decay!”

Nature's Cempte.

BY ANNA L. SNELLING.

An Indian warrior being urged to enter the splendid Catholic Cathedral at St. Louis, and witness the services there, made the following reply, "Sir, this beautiful green earth, and these waving trees are my church, and yonder," pointing to the clear blue sky beyond, "that is my preacher."

Он, allure me not to the gilded tower,
The mouldering trophy of man's vain power:
I would bend my knee on the verdant sod,
And 'neath the blue firmament, worship God!

What are your temples of wood and stone?
Do they tell us more of the "Great Unknown,"
Than the starry sky, or the mighty sea,—
Those emblems of vast eternity?

You tell me, too, of the eloquence rare,
Which inspired mortals are breathing there-
But they speak not to me like the lightning flash,
Or the cloud-capped rocks where the torrents dash.

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NATURE'S TEMPLE.

I would listen to Nature's voice alone:
It speaks to the heart in a low, deep tone;
Calming the soul that too long has striven
With worldly woe, and would soar to heaven.

How can your image, to which ye pray,
Hear your petitions, or guide your way?
Stay the storms of fate, or, at your demand,
Open the gates to the "spirit-land?"

Those pictures-ye call them works of art,-
Do they heal the wounds of the broken-heart?
They are senseless and cold; look around and see
How the wild green forest reproaches ye!

When the morning here, in its robes of light,
Disperses the shadows and mists of night,
From trees and thickets ascend on high,
One burst of untutored harmony;

Woods, rocks, and mountains echo the strain;
Flowers lift their heads from the dewy plain :
Each animate thing, then, obeys the call,
And worships the Spirit that made them all.

Then the heart is glad-all around us prove
The assurance given, that "God is Love;"

NATURE'S TEMPLE.

And when thunders roll, and the storm is near,
Then the guilty and wicked quake and fear;

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For it tells them, he too is a "God of Wrath ;"
To beware how they wander from that true path
He has pointed out for their steps to tread,
And which leads to joy, e'en when life has fled.

Go, kneel at your pictured and golden shrine-
God made the green earth where I tread, for mine!
Let your organ peal-but the lark must sing,
To assist my worship of Nature's King.

Not to an image of wood I bend

To a greater Power must my prayer ascend;
Not seen, but felt, loved, reverenced, feared;
To whom the whole world as an altar is reared.