SIGHS.

OH! yield not, thou sad one, to sighs.

Nor murmur at Destiny's will. Behold, for each pleasure that flies, Another replacing it still. Time's wing, were it all of onefeather, Far slower would be in its flight: The storm gives a charm to fine weather,

And day would seem dark without night.

Then yield not, thou sad one, to sighs.

When we look on some lake that repeats

The loveliness bounding its shore, A breeze o'er the soft surface fleets, And the mirror-like beauty is o'er.

Now is the high-tide of the year,

And whatever of life hath ebbed away

Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,

We are happy now because God wills it;

No matter how barren the past may have been,

'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;

We sit in the warm shade and feel right well

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;

We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing ing; That skies are clear and grass is growThe breeze comes whispering in our

ear,

That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that

streams are flowing,

That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by;

And if the breeze kept the good news back,

For other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,

And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year,

Tells all in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;

Everything is happy now,

Everything is upward striving; 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be

true

As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,

'Tis the natural way of living:

fled ?

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake;

And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache.

Was as a rhymer ere the poet come: But now, O rapture! sunshine-winged and voiced,

Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the West, Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud,

Gladness of woods, skies, waters all in one,

The bobolink has come, and, like the soul

Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what, Save June! Dear June! Now God be praised for June.

AUF WIEDERSEHEN.

THE little gate was reached at last,

Half hid in lilacs down the lane; She pushed it wide, and, as she past, A wistful look she backward cast,

And said, "Auf wiedersehen!" With hand on latch, a vision white Lingered reluctant, and again Half doubting if she did aright, Soft as the dews that fell that night, She said, "Auf wiedersehen!"

The lamp's clear gleam flits up the stair;

I linger in delicious pain; Ah, in that chamber, whose rich air To breathe in thought I scarcely dare, Thinks she,

"Auf wiedersehen!"

'Tis thirteen years; once more I