SUNDAY MORNING. How still the morning of the hallowed day! The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale, The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. -Grahame. THE NAME OF ENGLAND. THE NAME OF ENGLAND. THE trumpet of the battle Hath a high and thrilling tone. And the first deep gun of an ocean fight But a mightier power, my England! To strike the fire from every heart Proudly it woke the spirits Of yore-the brave and true- And proudly hath it floated Through the battles of the sea, When the red cross flag o'er smoke wreaths played Like the lightning in its glee. On rock, on wave, on bastion, Its echoes have been known; By a thousand streams the hearts lie low A thousand ancient mountains -Mrs. Hemans. 93 My way is on the bright blue sea, My plumage bears the crimson blush Full many a fathom down beneath The bright arch of the splendid deep, My ear has heard the sea-shell breathe O'er living myriads in their sleep. They rested by the coral throne, Where the pale sea-grape had o'ergrown EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS. At night, upon my storm-drenched wing, And when the wind and storm had done, And none was left to tell the tale. I saw the pomp of day depart, The cloud resign its golden crown, The sailor's wasted corse went down. Peace be to those whose graves are made -Longfellow. 95 EVENING SONG OF THE TYROLESE PEASANTS. COME to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; And the reaper's work is done. The twilight star to heaven, By the cool, soft evening hours. Sweet is the hour of rest, When the burden and the heat And kindly voices greet |