A song of a nest :

There was once a nest in a hollow,

Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,
Soft and warm, and full to the brim ;
Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim,
With buttercupbuds to follow.

I pray you hear my song of 'a nest,
For it is not long :-

You shall never light in a summer quest
The bushes among-

Shall never light on a prouder litter,
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

I had a nestful once of my own,
Ah, happy, happy I !

Right dearly I loved them but when they were

grown

They spread out their wings to fly.
O one after one, they flew away
Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And I wish I was going too.

I pray you, what is the nest to me-
My empty nest?

And what is the shore where I stood to see
My boat sail down to the west ?

Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed?

Can I call that home where my heart was set,
Now all its hope has failed?

Nay, but the port where my sailor went,
And the land where my nestlings be;
There is the home where my hopes are bent,
The only home for me.

JEAN INGELOW.

THY WILL BE DONE.

FOUR little words, no more—

Easy to say;

But thoughts that went before,
Can words convey?

The struggle, only known

To one proud soul,
And Him whose eye alone

Has marked the whole.

Before that stubborn will

At length was broke,
And a low, "Peace, be still!"
One soft voice spoke.

The pang when that sad heart

Its dreams resigned,

And strength was found to part
Those bonds long twined.

To yield that treasure up
So fondly clasped,
To drain that bitter cup,
So sadly grasped!

But all is calm at last,

"Thy will be done!" Enough, the storm is past, The field is won.

Now for the peaceful breast,

The quiet sleep;
For soul and spirit rest,
Tranquil and deep.

Rest, whose full bliss and power

They only know,
Who knew the bitter hour

Of restless woe.

The rebel will subdued,
The fond heart free,-

"Thy will be done!" All good
That comes from Thee.

H. L. L.

NEARER HOME.

ONE Sweetly solemn thought
Comes to me, o'er and o'er,

I am nearer home to-day,

Than I ever have been before.

Nearer my Father's house

Where the many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the crystal sea.

E

Nearer the bound of life,

Where we lay our burdens down ;
Nearer leaving the cross,
Nearer wearing the crown.

But lying darkly between,
Winding on through the night,
Is the deep and unknown stream,
That leads at last to the light.

Saviour,-perfect my trust,
Strengthen the hand of my faith;
Let me feel Thee near,- -as I stand
On the edge of the river of death.

Feel Thee near when my feet
Are stepping o'er the brink;
For it may be I am nearer home ;
Nearer, perhaps, than I think.

CAREY.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast,

And the woods against a stormy sky

Their giant branches tossed;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of exiles moored their bark

On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, the true-hearted, came;

Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;
Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear ;

They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard and the sea;

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam;
And the rocking pines of the forest roared--
This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band,-
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-
They sought a faith's pure shrine !

Ay, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod ;

They have left unstained what there they found-

Freedom to worship God.

MRS HEMANS.