Who practise good are in themselves rewarded,
For their own deeds lie in their hearts recorded;
And thus fraternal love, when bound

By virtue, is with its own blisses crowned,
And tastes, in sweetness that itself bestows,
What use, what power, from concord flows.

God in his boundless mercy joys to meet it;
His promises of future blessings greet it,
And fixed prosperity, which brings

Long life and ease beneath its shadowing wings,
And joy and fortune, that remain sublime
Beyond all distance, change, and time.
PSALM 133.-DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN,
Trans. by BowRING.

The Skylark Sang his Matin Chime.

I

WALKED the fields at morning's prime,
The grass was ripe for mowing;

The skylark sang. his matin chime,

And all was brightly glowing.

"And thus," I cried, "the ardent boy,
His pulse with rapture beating,
Deems life's inheritance is joy-
The future proudly greeting."

I wandered forth at noon :-Alas!
On earth's maternal bosom

The scythe had left the withering grass,
And stretched the fading blossom.

And thus, I thought with many a sigh,
The hopes we fondly cherish,
Like flowers which blossom but to die,
Seem only born to perish.

Once more, at eve, abroad I strayed,
Through lonely hay-fields musing,
While every breeze that round me played,
Rich fragrance was diffusing.

The perfumed air, the hush of eve,
To purer hopes appealing,

O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve,
Scattered the balm of healing.

For thus "the actions of the just,"
When memory hath enshrined them,
E'en from the dark and silent dust

Their odour leave behind them.

BERNARD BARTON.

The Orphan's Stay.

ALONE, alone!-no other face

Wears kindred smile, or kindred line:

And yet they say my mother's eyes,

They say my father's brow, is mine;

And either had rejoiced to see

The other's likeness in my face,

But now it is a stranger's eye,

That finds some long forgotten trace.

I heard them name my father's death,
His home and tomb alike the wave;
And I was early taught to weep,

Beside my youthful mother's grave.
I wish I could recall one look,-
But only one familiar tone;
If I had ought of memory,

I should not feel so all alone.

My heart is gone beyond the grave,
In search of love I cannot find,
Till I could fancy soothing words
Are whispered by the evening wind:
I gaze upon the watching stars,
So clear, so beautiful above,

Till I could dream they look on me
With something of an answering love.

My mother, does thy gentle eye,

Look from those distant stars on me? Or does the wind at evening bear A message to thy child from thee? Dost thou pine for me, as I pine Again a parent's love to share? I often kneel beside thy grave, And pray to be a sleeper there.

The vesper bell!-'tis eventide,

I will not weep, but I will pray : God of the fatherless, 'tis Thou Alone canst be the orphan's stay!

Earth's meanest flower, heaven's mightiest star,
Are equal to their Maker's love:
And I can say, "Thy will be done,"
With eyes that fix their hopes above.

L. E. LANDON.

Thou Speakest in the Secret Heart.
BLEST, who can soften care or find
Employment for the vacant mind,
In nature's scenes! Thrice blest is he,
Who forward casts his eyes to see,
In all that through the waters move,
In earth beneath and heaven above,
The sovereign Power, who nature made,
The Author in his works displayed:
And, as before the temple shrine
In vision came the voice divine
To youthful Samuel's nightly ear;
Hears, rapt in thought, or seems to hear,
Though void of language and of speech,
God's voice from all creation preach!

Then does the faithful duteous heart
Take up the listening Samuel's part,
Full fain to hear his Maker speak;
And with submissive spirit meek
Pursues the future prophet's strain,
Invokes the warning voice again,
Owns the blest sign, howe'er conferred,
And welcomes thus the heavenly word.

"Speak, for thy servant heareth, Lord;"-How varied are the ways,

Whereby thy wisdom, O my God, the truth to man conveys.

'Tis thine to make thy will be known by many a speaking sign:

Thy will, howe'er revealed, to heed with answering heart be mine.

Thou speakest in creation's works! Where'er I gaze abroad,

In nature's miracles I hear the voice of nature's

God:

I hear thy voice of bounteousness breathed in the silent shower,

And in the awful thunder storm I hear thy voice of power.

Thou speakest in this chequered scene of human joys and woes,

Where restlessness is twin to guilt, to holiness

repose:

And oft though clouds of mystery perplex my feeble sight,

I hear Thee say that Thou art good, and all will yet be bright.

Thou speakest in thy book! With words man's eloquence above,

I hear Thee of affection tell, surpassing woman's

love: