To melting murmurs ye have stirred The timid, trembling leaves.

When sunshine beautifies the shower, As smiles through teardrops seen, Ask of its June, the long-hushed heart, [20]

What hath the record been?

And thou wilt find that harmonies, In which the Soul hath part, Ne'er perish young, like things of earth, In records of the heart. [25]

[Page 391.]

Wish And Item

Written to the Editor of the _Item_, Lynn, Ma.s.s.

I hope the heart that's hungry For things above the floor, Will find within its portals [5]

An item rich in store;

That melancholy mortals Will count their mercies o'er, And learn that Truth and wisdom Have many items more; [10]

That when a wrong is done us, It stirs no thought of strife; And Love becomes the substance, As item, of our life;

That every ragged urchin, [15]

With bare feet soiled or sore, Share G.o.d's most tender mercies,- Find items at our door.

Then if we've done to others Some good ne'er told before, [20]

When angels shall repeat it, 'T will be an item more.

[Page 392.]

The Oak On The Mountain's Summit

Oh, mountain monarch, at whose feet I stand,- Clouds to adorn thy brow, skies clasp thy hand,- Nature divine, in harmony profound, With peaceful presence hath begirt thee round. [5]

And thou, majestic oak, from yon high place Guard'st thou the earth, asleep in night's embrace,- And from thy lofty summit, pouring down Thy sheltering shade, her noonday glories crown?

Whate'er thy mission, mountain sentinel, [10]

To my lone heart thou art a power and spell; A lesson grave, of life, that teacheth me To love the Hebrew figure of a tree.

Faithful and patient be my life as thine; As strong to wrestle with the storms of time; [15]

As deeply rooted in a soil of love; As grandly rising to the heavens above.

Isle Of Wight

Written on receiving a painting of the Isle

Isle of beauty, thou art singing [20]

To my sense a sweet refrain; To my busy mem'ry bringing Scenes that I would see again.

[Page 393.]

Chief, the charm of thy reflecting, [1]

Is the moral that it brings; Nature, with the mind connecting, Gives the artist's fancy wings.

Soul, sublime 'mid human _debris_, [5]

Paints the limner's work, I ween, Art and Science, all unweary, Lighting up this mortal dream.

Work ill-done within the misty Mine of human thoughts, we see [10]

Soon abandoned when the Master Crowns life's Cliff for such as we.

Students wise, he maketh now thus Those who fish in waters deep, When the buried Master hails us [15]

From the sh.o.r.es afar, complete.

Art hath bathed this isthmus-lordling In a beauty strong and meek As the rock, whose upward tending Points the plane of power to seek. [20]

Isle of beauty, thou art teaching Lessons long and grand, to-night, To my heart that would be bleaching To thy whiteness, Cliff of Wight.

[Page 394.]

Hope

'T is borne on the zephyr at eventide's hour; It falls on the heart like the dew on the flower,- An infinite essence from tropic to pole, The promise, the home, and the heaven of Soul. [5]

Hope happifies life, at the altar or bower, And loosens the fetters of pride and of power; It comes through our tears, as the soft summer rain, To beautify, bless, and make joyful again.

The harp of the minstrel, the treasure of time; [10]

A rainbow of rapture, o'erarching, divine; The G.o.d-given mandate that speaks from above,- No place for earth's idols, but hope thou, and love.