HORATIUS BONAR.

Calm me, my God, and keep me Calm in the sufferance of wrong,

And her heart, with its sweet secret Through our voices runs the tender

Where Love had bid me come to him; Or Christmas songs that shake the Thither I came, but found him not.

For he with idle folks had gone

To dance the hours of night away;
And I that toiled was left alone,
Too weary now to dance or play.

THE difference.

SWEETER than voices in the scented
hay,
Or laughing children gleaning ears
that stray,

snows above,

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

TO TIME.

THE GREENwood.

O TIME! Who know'st a lenient hand OH! when 'tis summer weather,

The faint pang stealest, unperceived
away;

On thee I rest my only hope at last,
And think when thou hast dried

the bitter tear

And the yellow bee, with fairy

sound,

The waters clear is humming round,
And the cuckoo sings unseen,
And the leaves are waving green,-
Oh! then 't is sweet,

In some retreat,

To hear the murmuring dove,
With those whom on earth alone we
love,

That flows in vain o'er all my soul And to wind through the greenwood

held dear,

I may look back on every sorrow past,

together.

And meet life's peaceful evening with But when 't is winter weather,

And crosses grieve,
And friends deceive,
And rain and sleet
The lattice beat,-
Oh! then 't is sweet,
To sit and sing

Of the friends with whom, in the
days of Spring,

Which hopes from thee, and thee We aloue, a cure!

roamed through the greenwood together.

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY

ANNA C. BRACKETT.

IN GARFIELD'S DANGER.

Is it not possible that all the love

From all these million hearts, which breathless turns
To one hushed room where silent footsteps move,
May have some power on life that feebly burns?
Must it not have some power in some strange way,
Some strange, wise way, beyond our tangled ken,
When far and wide, from sea to sea to-day,
Even in quiet fields, hard-handed men
Pause in their toil to ask the passer-by

"What news?" and then, "We cannot spare him yet!"
Surely no tide can powerless rise so high.

Bear on, brave heart! The land does not forget.
Thou yet shalt be upborne to life and strength again
On this flood-tide of love of millions of brave men.

MARY E. BRADLEY.

BEYOND RECALL.

THERE was a time when death and I| You thought me dead: you called

Met face to face together:

I was but young indeed to die,
And it was summer weather;
One happy year a wedded wife,
Yet I was slipping out of life.

You knelt beside me, and I heard,
As from some far-off distance,

A bitter cry that dimly stirred
My soul to make resistance.