To Laura, two Years of Age.-N. P. WILLIS.

BRIGHT be the skies that cover thee,

Child of the sunny brow

Bright as the dream flung over thee
By all that meets thee now.
Thy heart is beating joyously,
Thy voice is like a bird's,
And sweetly breaks the melody
Of thy imperfect words.

I know no fount that gushes out
As gladly as thy tiny shout.

I would that thou might'st ever be
As beautiful as now,-

That Time might ever leave as free
Thy yet unwritten brow,-

I would life were "all poetry,"
To gentle measure set,

That nought but chastened melody
Might stain thine eye of jet-
Nor one discordant note be spoken,
Till God the cunning harp hath broken.

I would-but deeper things than these
With woman's lot are wove,
Wrought of intenser sympathies,
And nerved by purer love.
By the strong spirit's discipline,
By the fierce wrong forgiven,

By all that wrings the heart of sin,
Is woman won to Heaven.

"Her lot is on thee," lovely child-
God keep thy spirit undefiled!

I fear thy gentle loveliness,
Thy witching tone and air;
Thine eye's beseeching earnestness
May be to thee a snare.

The silver stars may purely shine,

The waters taintless flow

But they who kneel at woman's shrine
Breathe on it as they bow-

Ye may fling back the gift again,

But the crushed flower will leave a stain.

What shall preserve thee, beautiful child?
Keep thee as thou art now?
Bring thee, a spirit undefiled,
At God's pure throne to bow?
The world is but a broken reed,
And life grows early dim:

Who shall be near thee in thy need,

To lead thee up-to Him?

He, who himself was "undefiled:"

With him we trust thee, beautiful child!

The dead Leaves strew the Forest-walk.-BRAINARD.

THE dead leaves strew the forest-walk,
And withered are the pale wild-flowers;
The frost hangs blackening on the stalk,
The dew-drops fall in frozen showers.

Gone are the spring's green, sprouting bowers,
Gone summer's rich and mantling vines,
And autumn, with her yellow hours,

On hill and plain no longer shines.

I learned a clear and wild-toned note,
That rose and swelled from yonder tree-

A gay bird, with too sweet a throat,

There perched, and raised her song for me.
The winter comes, and where is she?
Away-- -where summer wings will rove,
Where buds are fresh, and every tree
Is vocal with the notes of love.

Too mild the breath of southern sky,
Too fresh the flower that blushes there;
The northern breeze, that rustles by,
Finds leaves too green, and buds too fair;
No forest-tree stands stript and bare,
No stream beneath the ice is dead,

No mountain-top, with sleety hair,
Bends o'er the snows its reverend head.

Go there with all the birds,-and seek

A happier clime, with livelier flight;
Kiss, with the sun, the evening's cheek;
And leave me lonely with the night.
I'll gaze upon the cold north light,
And mark where all its glories shone→→
See-that it all is fair and bright,
Feel-that it all is cold and gone!

Seasons of Prayer.-HENRY WARE, JR.

To prayer, to prayer;-for the morning breaks,
And earth in her Maker's smile awakes.
His light is on all below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of grateful prayer.

To prayer;-for the glorious sun is gone,
And the gathering darkness of night comes on.
Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows,
To shade the couch where his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright,
And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night.

To prayer;-for the day that God has blessed
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of creation's early bloom;

It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb.
Then summon the spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours.

There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes,
For her new-born infant beside her lies.

O, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows

With rapture a mother only knows.

Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer;
Let it swell up to heaven for her precious care.

There are smiles and tears in that gathering band,
Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand.
What trying thoughts in her bosom swell,
As the bride bids parents and home farewell!

Kneel down by the side of the tearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.

Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray for his soul through him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow-
O, what is earth and its pleasures now!
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer?

Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is peace in his eye that upwards bends;
There is peace in his calm, confiding air;

For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer.

The voice of prayer at the sable bier!

A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.

It commends the spirit to God who gave;

It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave;
It points to the glory where he shall reign,
Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again."

The voice of prayer in the world of bliss!
But gladder, purer, than rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing;
But a sinless and joyous song they raise;
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.

Awake, awake, and gird up thy strength
To join that holy band at length.
To him who unceasing love displays,

Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given;
For a life of prayer is the life of heaven.

Effect of the Ocean and its Scenery on the Mind of the Buccaneer when agitated with Remorse for his Crime.— RICHARD H. DANA.

WHO's yonder on that long, black ledge,
Which makes so far into the sea?

See! there he sits, and pulls the sedge-
Poor, idle Matthew Lee!

So weak and pale? A year and little more,
And thou didst lord it bravely round this shore!

And on the shingles now he sits,

And rolls the pebbles 'neath his hands;
Now walks the beach; then stops by fits,
And scores the smooth, wet sands;

Then tries each cliff, and cove, and jut, that bounds
The isle; then home from many weary rounds.

They ask him why he wanders so,
From day to day, the uneven strand?-
"I wish, I wish that I might go!

But I would go by land;

And there's no way that I can find-I've tried

All day and night!"-He looked towards sea, and sighed.

It brought the tear to many an eye,
That, once, his eye had made to quail.
"Lee, go with us; our sloop rides nigh;
Come! help us hoist her sail."

He shook." You know the spirit-horse I ride!
He'll let me on the sea with none beside !"

He views the ships that come and go,
Looking so like to living things.
O! 'tis a proud and gallant show

Of bright and broad-spread wings

Flinging a glory round them, as they keep

Their course right onward through the unsounded deep.

And where the far-off sand-bars lift

Their backs in long and narrow line,
The breakers shout, and leap, and shift,
And send the sparkling brine