O backward-looking thought! O pain! For us there is not any silver sound That dry the tender juices in the breast, And put the thunders of the Lord to test, [praise, So that no marvel must be, and no Nor any God except Necessity. Woe worth the knowledge and the What can ye give my poor stained bookish lore Which makes men mummies; weighs out every grain Of that which was miraculous before, And sneers the heart down with the scoffing brain; life in lieu Of this dead cherub which I slew for ye! Take back your doubtful wisdom and renew [dunce, My early foolish freshness of the Woe worth the peering, analytic Whose simple instincts guessed the heavens at once. days PATIENCE. IF, when you labor all the day, Then cheerily lie down to rest: And when the morrow greets your Be Christ's the fair and perfect life eyes, With strong and patient heart arise. whereby We shape our lives for all eternity. Who works the best, his simplest duties heeds, Who moves the world, first moves a single soul. Then go, my heart, thy plainest work begin, Do first not what thou canst, but what thou must; Build not upon a corner-stone of sin, Nor seek great works until thou first be just. SARAH ROBERTS. THE VOICE OF THE GRASS. HERE I come creeping, creeping everywhere; By the dusty roadside, In every shady brook, I come creeping, creeping every where. Here I come creeping, smiling every where; All around the open door, Where sit the aged poor; I come creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; In the noisy city street, My pleasant face you'll meet, Cheering the sick at heart Toiling his busy part Silently creeping, creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; You cannot see me coming, I come quietly creeping everywhere. Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere; More welcome than the flowers SAMUEL ROGERS. Six Poems entitled by the author, "Reflections." | Cost what they will, such cruel freaks are played; And hence the turmoil in this world HEART SUPERIOR TO HEAD. THE heart, they say, is wiser than the schools: And well they may. All that is great in thought, That strikes at once as with electric fire, And lifts us, as it were, from earth to heaven, Comes from the heart; and who confesses not Its voice as sacred, nay, almost divine, When inly it declares on what we do, Blaming, approving? Let an erring world Judge as it will, we care not while we stand Acquitted there; and oft, when clouds on clouds Compass us round and not a track appears, Oft is an upright heart the surest guide, Surer and better than the subtlest head; Still with its silent counsels through the dark [From Human Life.] Tracing in vain the footsteps o'er the green; THE PASSAGE FROM BIRTH TO The man himself how altered, not AGE. AND such is Human Life; so, gliding on, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange, As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change, As any that the wandering tribes require, Stretched in the desert round their evening fire; As any sung of old in hall or bower To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching hour! Born in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire; And the green earth, the azure sky admire Of elfin-size,- for ever as we run, We cast a longer shadow in the sun! And now a charm, and now a grace is won! We grow in stature, and in wisdom too! And, as new scenes, new objects rise to view, Think nothing done while aught remains to do. Yet, all forgot, how oft the eyelids close, And from the slack hand drops the gathered rose! How oft, as dead, on the warm turf we lie, While many an emmet comes with curious eye; And on her nest the watchful wren sits by! Nor do we speak or move, or hear or see; So like what once we were, and once again shall be! And say, how soon, where, blithe as innocent, The boy at sunrise carolled as he went, An aged pilgrim on his staff shall lean, |