Song.-ANONYMOUS. A PALE weeping-willow stands yonder alone, That tells of the maiden who sleeps there in death. She came to the village, a stranger unknown,— She told not her story, she spoke not of sorrow, But laid herself down, and, heart-broken, she sighed; And, ere the hills blushed in the dawn of the morrow, Uncomplaining and silent, the sweet stranger died. Apart and alone, the sad villagers made A cold, quiet tomb in the heart of the vale; The Life of the Blessed.-BRYANT. FROM THE SPANISH OF LUIS PONCE DE LEON. Alma region luciente, Prado de bien andanza, que ni al hielo, &c. REGION of life and light! Land of the good, whose earthly toils are o'er! Nor frost, nor heat, may blight Thy vernal beauty; fertile shore, Yielding thy blessed fruits for evermore! There, without crook or sling, Walks the good Shepherd; blossoms white and red Round his meek temples cling; And, to sweet pastures led, His own loved flock beneath his eye are fed. He guides, and near him they Follow delighted; for he makes them go Where dwells eternal May, And heavenly roses blow, Deathless, and gathered but again to grow. He leads them to the height Named of the infinite and long sought Good, And where his feet have stood Springs up, along the way, their tender food. And when, in the mid skies, The climbing sun has reached his highest bound, With all his flock around, He witches the still air with modulated sound. From his sweet lute flow forth Immortal harmonies of power to still All passions born of earth, And draw the ardent will Its destiny of goodness to fulfil. Might but a little part, A wandering breath of that high melody, Descend into my heart, And change it, till it be Transformed and swallowed up, O love, in thee; Ah, then my soul should know, Beloved, where thou liest at noon of day, And, from this place of wo Released, should take its way To mingle with thy flock, and never stray. The Sunday School.-MRS. SIGOURNEY. GROUP after group are gathering. Such as pressed And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet, Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows The "coat of many colors" proves His love, Come forth to gird the weak, untutored mind,— The rest of earthly Sabbaths.-Be your gain They went out into the Mount of Olives.”—J. PIERPOINT. THERE'S Something sweet in scenes of gloom To hearts of joy bereft, When hope has withered in its bloom, When friends are going to the tomb, 'Tis night-a lovely night;—and, lo! The Savior and his brethren go, Led by heaven's lamp serene,— From Salem's height, o'er Kedron's stream, To Olivet's dark steep, There, o'er past joys, gone like a dream, O'er future woes, that present seem, In solitude to weep. Heaven on their earthly hopes has frowned; The table, that his love has crowned, Blast not, O God, this hope of ours, The Lily.-J. G. PERCIVAL. I HAD found out a sweet green spot, The din of the city disturbed it not, With its wings of love, was there. I found that lily's bloom When the day was dark and chill: It smiled, like a star in the misty gloom, I sat by the lily's bell, And watched it many a day : : The leaves, that rose in a flowing swell, And the flower had flown away. I looked where the leaves were laid, In withering paleness, by, And, as gloomy thoughts stole on me, said, The Last Evening before Eternity.-HILLHOUSE. By this, the sun his westering car drove low: Round his broad wheel full many a lucid cloud Floated, like happy isles, in seas of gold: Turrets and towers, whose fronts, embattled, gleamed With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick The heavenly legions, the assembled world, Round I gazed, Where, in the purple west, no more to dawn, Mild twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud While gazing wistful on that peerless light, In dreams, strange images will mix,) sad thoughts |