2.

MAY GARLANDS.

"The sun is no sooner risen with a burning heat, but it withereth the grass, and the flower thereof falleth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth."

COME, ye little revellers gay,

Learners in the school of May,

Bring me here the richest crown

Wreathed this morn on hill-side down,

Or in nook of copsewood green,

Or by river's rushy screen,

Or in sunny meadow wide,

Gemmed with cowslips in their pride;
Or perchance, high prized o'er all,
From beneath the southern wall,
From the choicest garden bed,

'Mid bright smiles of infants bred,
Each a lily of his own
Offering, or a rose half-blown.

Bring me now a crown as gay,

Wreathed and woven yesterday.

Where are now those forms so fair?

Withered, drooping, wan and bare,

Feeling nought of earth or sky,
Shower or dew, behold they lie,
Vernal airs no more to know :-
They are gone-and ye must go,
Go where all that ever bloomed,
In its hour must lie entombed.-

They are gone; their light is o'er :—
Ye must go; but ye once more
Hope in joy to be new-born,

Lovelier than May's gleaming morn.

Hearken, children of the May,
Now in your glad hour and gay,

Ye whom all good Angels greet

With their treasures blithe and sweet :

None of all the wreaths ye prize

But was nursed by weeping skies.
Keen March winds, soft April showers,
Braced the roots, embalmed the flowers.

So, if e'er that second spring

Her green robe o'er you shall fling,
Stern self-mastery, tearful prayer,
Must the way of bliss prepare.

How should else Earth's flowerets prove
Meet for those pure crowns above?

3.

SUNDAY NOSEGAYS.

"Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased.”

YE children that on JESUS wait,
Gathering around His temple gate

To learn His word and will,

For glory hungered and athirst,—

Which of you all would fain be first?
Come here and take your fill.

Come, still and pure as drops of dew,
Come to the feast prepared for you,
Your prayer in silence breathe ;—
Seek the last room, the scorn'd of all:
If that be filled, adoring fall

The Holy Board beneath.

Not to the quick untrembling gaze,

The heart that bounds at human praise,

Loves he to say, Go higher.

But most He turns His face away,
When envy's sidelong eyes betray

The foul unhallowed fire.

Say, little maids that love the spring,
Of all the fragrant gems ye bring,
For bower or bridal wreath,
Is aught so fair as violets shy,
Betraying where they lowly lie

By the soft airs they breathe?

Oft as with mild caressing hand
Ye cull and bind in tender band

Those bashful flowers so sweet-
With many a Sunday smile,-to rest
Upon some loved and honoured breast,
A welcome gift and meet.

Ye to the Heaven-taught soul present

A token and a sacrament,

How to the highest room

Earth's lowliest flowers our Lord receives ;

Close to His heart a place He gives,

Where they shall ever bloom.