'Tis gone, and he is musing left ;

What if in such array
Our Saviour through the aërial cleft

Rose on Ascension Day ?

That hour, a glorious cloud, we know,

Hid Him from human sight, While pastoral eyes were strained below

To trace Him through the light.

Oh if but once such awful thought,

In sleep or waking dream,
At night or noontide, came unsought,

Like haunting sound of stream,

Surely thou durst not let it go ;

Oft as thine eye shall turn Where overhead the clear deeps glow,

Thine heart must inly burn,

Wondering what mortal first shall view

The dread returning sign, When the strong portals, raised anew,

Disclose the march divine.

The sun of Autumn climbs full fast ;

He will have quaffed each drop of dew, Ere half the fragrant, heathy lane be passed ;

The lingerers, they will find scant ears and few.

Come, quit your toys, and haste away.

But mark : ye may not leave behind Your store of smiles, your gladsome talk and gay, Your pure thoughts, fashioned to your Master's


Blithe be your course, yet bear in heart

The lame and old, and help them on ; Full handfuls drop, where they may take a part,

As high will swell your heap when day is done.

Yon slumbering infant in the shade,

Grudge not one hour on him to wait While others glean. The work with singing aid,

With ready mirth all sharper tones abate.

Sing softly in your heart all day

Sweet carols to the Harvest's Lord, So shall ye chase those evil powers away

That walk at noon—rude gaze and wanton word.

But see the tall elm shadows reach

Athwart the field, the rooks fly home, The light streams gorgeous up the o'er-arching beech, With the calm hour soft


fancies come.

In heaven the low red harvest moon,

The glow-worm on the dewy ground, Will light us home with our glad burdens soon ;

Grave be our evening prayers, our slumbers sound.




“ The children crying in the Temple, Hosanna to the Son of David."

How fast these autumn leaves decay !-
But nearer view the naked spray,
And many a bud thine eye will meet
Prepared with ready smile to greet

The showers and gleams of spring.

Such buds of hope are Advent hours :
Ere the Old Year its leaves and flowers
Have shed, the New in promise lives ;
Christmas afar glad token gives,

Soft carols faintly ring.

So when our Lord in meekness rode
Where few save wintry hearts abode,
Each leaf on Judah's sacred tree
Was withered, wan, and foul to see,

Touched by the frost-wind's wing.

Yet lurk’d there tender gems beneath,
Ere long to bloom in glorious wreath.
While Priest and Scribe looked on and frowned,
His little ones came chanting round

Hosanna to their King.

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