Good night!--the bee with folded wings Sleeps sweet in honeyed flowers, And far away the night-bird sings In dreamy forest bowers, And slowly fades the western light In deepening shade,--good night! good night!

Good night! good night!--in whispers low The ling'ring zephyr sighs, And softly, in its dreamy flow, The murm'ring brook replies; And, where yon cas.e.m.e.nt still is bright, A softer voice has breathed good-night!

Good night!--as steals the cooling dew Where the young violet lies, E'en so may slumber steal anew To weary human eyes, And softly steep the aching sight In dewy rest--good night! good night!

OUR COUNTRY; --OR,-- A CENTURY OF PROGRESS.

Over the waves of the Western sea, Led by the hand of Hope she came-- The beautiful Angel of Liberty-- When the sky was red with the sunset's flame,-- Came to a rocky and surf-beat sh.o.r.e, Lone, and wintry, and stern, and wild, The waves behind her, and wastes before, And the Angel of Liberty, pausing, smiled.

"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"

Softly she sang, and the waters shone While a mellower radiance flushed the west, Lingering mountain and vale upon;-- Sweetly the murmurous melody blent With flow of rivers and woodland song, And wandering breezes that singing went, Joyously wafted the notes along.

Acadia lifted her mist-wreathed brow, Westerly gazing with eager eye, And lakes that sat in the sunset glow Flashed back upon her in glad reply;-- On, with every murmuring stream, On, with every wandering breeze, Floated the strain through the New World's dream, Till it died on the far Pacific seas.

Many a season came and went,-- Many a changeful year sped by,-- Many a forest its proud head bent,-- Many a valley looked up to the sky; Patient Labor and bold Emprise, Art, Invention, Science, Skill, Each for each 'neath those northern skies Toiled together with earnest will.

Up the mountain, and down the glen, And far away to the level West, Hosts of dauntless, unwearied men Onward ever with firm foot pressed; The blue axe gleamed in the wintry light, And forests melted like mist away, Through virgin soils went the ploughshare bright.

And harvests brightened the summer day.

Learning gathered around her feet Listening crowds of aspiring youth; Meek Religion with accents sweet Guided her vot'ries in ways o' truth; Countless church-spires pierced the skies, Countless temples of Science wooed To thought's arena of high emprise An eager, emulous mult.i.tude.

White sails dotted the waters blue, Hamlets smiled amid valleys green, Populous cities sprang and grew Where swamp and wilderness erst were seen; Fleet as the tempest the iron-steed Shook the hills with his thunderous tread; From sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, with the lightning's speed, Couriers electric man's errands sped.

Then kindred States that had stood apart Stretched to each other fraternal hands, And, each to all, with a loyal heart, Bound themselves with enduring bands;-- Then the Angel of Liberty smiled once more, Softly singing--"O Lands, well done!"

And the strains were wafted from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e To the far-off climes of the setting sun.

"Here, O Sister, shall be our rest!"

--Again the beautiful Angel sung-- Long, oh long, shall these climes be blessed, Free and fetterless, brave and young, If only loyal to Him who reigns Over all nations the Lord Most-High, Monarch of Heaven's serene domains, Ruler of all things below the sky.

"Bow to His service, O young, bright lands!

Give Him the bloom of your joyous youth!

Lift to Him alway adoring hands!

Worship Him ever in love and truth!

So shall ye still, as the glad years rise, Ever more stable and glorious be, Heir of all loftiest destinies, HOPE OF HUMANITY! HOME OF THE FREE!"

JESUS THE SOULS REST.

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and _I will give you rest._"

I gave myself to Jesus In my sunny childhood's years, When on my young, unsullied cheek There lay no trace of tears; I little knew what gift I gave, Nor yet what gift I took; For life without and life within Were each a sealed-up book.

But soon enough unfolding years Brought sorrow, toil, and pain,-- Brought disappointment's burning tears, And yearnings wild and vain; And then I learned what precious Gift In Jesus I received In that still hour of childish trust, When my young heart believed.

'Twas then I knew what arm unseen Was round me 'mid the strife, The blighted hope, the toil uncheered, The cold, rude storms of life; And when the reeds on which I leaned All failed me one by one, I clasped my pierced and bleeding hands, And wept, but _not alone._

For He was near me midst the strife, And, leaning on His arm, I trod the th.o.r.n.y paths of life, Safe sheltered from all harm; The while He whispered to my heart, "I gave my life for thee!

Then, heavy laden as thou art, Cast all thy care on me!"

"_On me!_ ON ME!"--oh, gentle word!-- O Sympathy divine!-- O Fount of joy, how deeply stirred, Within this heart of mine!-- O cool, sweet Waters, how ye stilled The fever of my brain,-- And soothed the heart-strings that had thrilled With agonizing pain!

My own,--My Rock!--the heavy tide May beat in uproar dread, Calmly 'gainst its unmoving side I rest my weary head;-- For well I know how deep it strikes Beneath the raging flood-- My Soul's firm Anchor 'mid the strife, My Refuge and my G.o.d!

THE BEAUTIFUL ARTIST.

There's a beautiful Artist abroad in the world, And her pencil is dipped in heaven,-- The gorgeous hues of Italian skies, The radiant sunset's richest dyes, The light of Aurora's laughing eyes, Are each to her pictures given.

As I walked abroad yestere'en, what time The sunset was fairest to see, I saw where her wonderful brush had been Over a maple tree--half of it green-- And the fairiest col'ring that ever was seen She had left on that maple tree.

There was red of every possible hue, There was yellow of every dye, From the faintest straw-tint to orange bright, Fluttering, waving, flashing in light, With the delicate, green leaves still in sight, Peeping out at the sunset sky.

She had touched the beech, and the scraggy thing.

In a bright new suit was dressed; Very queer, indeed, it looked to me, The sober old beech tree thus to see, So different from what he used to be, Rigged out in a holiday vest.

Red, and russet, and green, and grey-- He had little indeed of gold-- For the beech was never known to be gay, Being noted a very grave tree alway, Never flaunting out in a fanciful way Like other trees, we are told.

But the beautiful artist had touched him off With an extra tint or so; And he held his own very well with the rest, On which, I am sure, she had done her best, Dressing each in the fairiest kind of a vest, Till the forest was all aglow.

There were the willow that grew by the brook, And the old oak on the hill; The graceful elm tree down in the swale, The birch, the ash, and the ba.s.s-wood pale, The orchard trees cl.u.s.tering over the vale, And weeds that fringed the rill.

One, she had gilt with a flood of gold, And one, she had tipped with flame; One, she had dashed with every hue That the laughing sunset ever knew, And one--she had colored it through and through Russet, all sober and tame.

Now this beautiful artist will only stay A very few days, and then, She will finish her gorgeous pictures all, And hurry away ere the gusty squall Ruins her work, and the sere leaves fail Darkly in copse and glen.

Then welcome these pictures, so soon to fade, While they're fresh, and bright, and new, For a frosty night, and a gusty day, And a withering blight are not far away, So enjoy the beautiful while you may, It was given, good friend, _for you!_

"LET US PRAY"

[Footnote: A precious memory is a.s.sociated with these words. The voice that uttered them is silent now but the solemnity of their utterance has not pa.s.sed away. The [below] is a feeble attempt to give it something like permanency.]

Bow the head in supplication, Lowly, penitent, sincere, Worthiest of adoration, G.o.d, the Holy One is here!-- Here, while through the open cas.e.m.e.nt Gently beams the rising day, While, in contrite self abas.e.m.e.nt, Rev'rently we kneel and pray!