Ye that in the fields of Love

Feel the breath and bloom of spring,
While I sing, securely rove,—
Rest in safety, while I sing.
Ye that gaze with vain regret
Back towards that holy ground,
All the world between forget,
Spirit-rocked from sound to sound.

All indifference, all distrust,
From old friendships pass away!
Let the faces of the just

Shine as in God's perfect day!
Fix the faintest, fleetest, smile,

E'er athwart your path has gleam'd,—
Take the charm without the wile,-
Be the Beauty all it seem'd!

'Mid the flowers you love the best,
Summer pride or vernal boon-
By your favourite light caressed,
Blush of eve or glow of noon,-
Blend the strains of happiest days
With the voices held most dear;
Children cast on weary ways!
Rest in peace and pleasaunce here.

Be the Future's glorious page
In my tones to youth revealed;
Let the ruffled brow of age
With eternal calm be sealed;

High as Heaven's ethereal cope,

Wide as Light's rejoicing ray,

Thoughts of memory! Thoughts of hope!
Wander, wander, while ye may.

A CHILD'S SONG.

"I see the Moon, and the Moon sees me,
God bless the Moon, and God bless me."
OLD RHYME.

LADY Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving? All that love me.

Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale, and so sad, as for ever
Wishing to weep?

Ask me not this, little child! if you love me;
You are too bold;

I must obey my dear Father above me,

And do as I'm told.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving? Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving? All that love me.

GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING.

(A CHILD'S SONG.)

A FAIR little girl sat under a tree,

Sewing as long as her eyes could see :

Then smoothed her work, and folded it right,

And said, "Dear Work! Good Night, Good Night!"

Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying "Caw! caw! on their way to bed:
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
"Little black things! Good Night! Good Night!"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed :

The sheep's "Bleat! bleat!" came over the road :
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
"Good little Girl! Good Night! Good Night!"

She did not say to the Sun "Good Night!"
Though she saw him there, like a ball of light ;
For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head-
The violets curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favourite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay

She knew nothing more till again it was day:

And all things said to the beautiful sun,

"Good Morning! Good Morning! our work is begun!'

THE LAY OF THE HUMBLE.

Le bon Dieu me dit-"Chante,
Chante, pauvre petit." BERANGER.

I HAVE NO Comeliness of frame,
No pleasant range of feature;
I'm feeble, as when first I came
To earth, a weeping creature ;
My voice is low whene'er I speak,
And singing faint my song;

But though thus cast among the weak,
I envy not the strong.

The trivial part in life I play

Can have so light a bearing

On other men, who, night or day,

For me are never caring;

That, though I find not much to bless,

Nor food for exaltation,

I know that I am tempted less,

And that is consolation.

The beautiful! the noble blood!

I shrink as they pass by,—

Such power for evil or for good
Is flashing from each eye;

They are indeed the stewards of Heaven,

High-headed and strong-handed:

From those, to whom so much is given,

How much may be demanded!

'Tis true, I am hard buffeted,
Though few can be my foes,
Harsh words fall heavy on my head,
And unresisted blows;

But then I think, "had I been born,-
Hot spirit-sturdy frame-

And passion prompt to follow scorn,—
I might have done the same."

To me men are for what they are,
They wear no masks with me;
I never sicken'd at the jar
Of ill-tuned flattery;

I never mourned affections lent

In folly or in blindness;—

The kindness that on me is spent

Is pure, unasking, kindness.

And most of all, I never felt

The agonizing sense

Of seeing love from passion melt

Into indifference;

The fearful shame, that day by day

Burns onward, still to burn,

To' have thrown your precious heart away,

And met this black return.

I almost fancy that the more
I am cast out from men,
Nature has made me of her store
A worthier denizen ;