"BLESSED ARE THE MEEK, FOR THEY SHALL INHERIT THE EARTH."

A QUIET heart, submissive, meek,

Father, do Thou bestow;

Which more than granted will not seek
To have, or give, or know.

All green hills then will hold their gift
Forth to my joying eyes ;

The mountains blue will then uplift

My spirit to the skies.

The falling water then will sound

As if for me alone;

Nay, will not blessing more abound

That many hear its tone?

The trees their murmuring forth will send,
The birds send forth their song ;

The waving grass its tribute lend
Sweet music to prolong.

The water-lily's shining cup,

The trumpet of the bee,

The thousand odours floating up,

The many-shaded sea,

The rising sunlight's golden tread
Over the eastward waves,

The crimson-mottled clouds o'er-head,

The weed from far sea-caves

All lovely things from south to north,
All harmonies that be,

Each will its soul of joy send forth
To enter into me.

And thus the wide world I shall hold,

A perfect gift of Thine;

Richer by these, a thousandfold,

Than if broad lands were mine.

HEARD a thousand blended notes,

While in a grove I sat reclined,

In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link

The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,

The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;

And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,

Their thoughts I cannot measure :— But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;

And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from Heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament

What man has made of man?

WORDSWORTH.

MY DOVES.

"O Weisheit! Du red'st wie eine Taube!"-GOETHE.

My little doves have left a nest

Upon an Indian tree,

Whose leaves fantastic take their rest,

Or motion, from the sea;

For, ever there the sea-winds go

With sun-lit paces to and fro.

The tropic flowers looked up to it,
The tropic stars looked down,
And there my little doves did sit,
With feathers softly brown,

And glittering eyes that showed their right
To general Nature's deep delight.

And God them taught, at every close
Of murmuring waves beyond
And green leaves round, to interpose
Their choral voices fond,
Interpreting that love must be
The meaning of the earth and sea.

Fit ministers! Of living loves
Theirs has the calmest fashion,
Their living voice the likest moves
To lifeless intonation,

The lovely monotone of springs

And winds and such insensate things.

My little doves were ta'en away

From that glad nest of theirs,

Across an ocean rolling grey,

And tempest-clouded airs;

My little doves, who lately knew

The sky and wave by warmth and blue.

C