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EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.

"Now in thy youth, beseech of Him,

Who giveth, upbraiding not,

That his light in thy heart become not dim,

And his love be unforgot;

And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be
Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee. "

Bernard Barton.

HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clust'ring locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night-in prayer.

Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek,
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought—
Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,

And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought?

EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. 147

-Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,
What death must fashion for eternity!

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,
As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppress'd,

'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sunLift up your hearts!-though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;

Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs
Of hope make melody where'er ye tread;

And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;
Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness-how soon her woe!

Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,

And sumless riches, from Affection's deep,

To pour on broken reeds-a wasted shower!

And to make idols, and to find then clay,

And to bewail that worship-therefore pray!

148 EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.

Her lot is on you—to be found untir'd,

Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspir'd,

And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And oh! to love through all things-therefore pray!

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,

With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime, As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake-oh! happy to have given Th' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven!

THE INVOCATION.

WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF A SISTER-IN-LAW.

ANSWER me, burning stars of night!

Where is the spirit gone,

That

past the reach of human sight,
Even as a breeze, hath flown?

-And the stars answer'd me-
In light and power on high,

But, of the never-dying soul,

Ask things that cannot die!"

"We roll

Oh! many-ton'd and chainless wind!
Thou art a wanderer free;
Tell me if thou its place canst find,
Far over mount and sea?
—And the wind murmur'd in reply,

"The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high,

But not what thou hast lost!”

Ye clouds that gorgeously repose

Around the setting sun,

Answer! have ye a home for those

Whose earthly race is run?

The bright clouds answer'd-" We depart,

We vanish from the sky;

Ask what is deathless in thy heart
For that which cannot die!"

Speak, then, thou voice of God within!
Thou of the deep low tone!
Answer me through life's restless din,

Where is the spirit flown?

-And the voice answer'd-"Be thou still!

Enough to know is given;

Clouds, winds, and stars their task fulfil,

Thine is to trust in Heaven!"

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