The lark, on soaring pinion,
Poured forth its lay of love;
The cuckoo roused, the thicket,
The nightingale the grove :

The winds made pleasant music
Upon the mountain_side,
And down in peaceful valleys

The merry brooks replied :
While troops of happy children,

The hidden glades among, Swelled with their cheerful chorus The universal song.

And still, as Spring rejoicing,

Her pleasant journey ran,

She ever lingered lightly

Above the haunts of man : She filled with hope and gladness The dwellings of the poor,

And drove the dreary winter

Far from their lowly door :

Into the sick man's chamber She poured a flood of light, And strewed her fairest flowers Before his gladdened sight; She shook her sweetest perfume

From out the hawthorn bough,

And wafted gentle breezes

Upon his weary brow :

Around the saddened spirit

She shed her brightest smile; And visited the mourner,

His sorrow to beguile :

Till hearts with grief long burdened With others joined to sing

The song of joy and triumph

That welcomed back the Spring.

HARVEST.

H

URRAH! hurrah for harvest! it is with us once

again;

It is climbing up the sloping hills, and creeping o'er the

plain;

It spreads a train of triumph, and a golden garland

weaves,

And crowns the laughing landscape with a diadem of sheaves.

With its ever-welcome treasures, and its stores of precious

grain,

Hurrah! hurrah for harvest! for 'tis with us once again.

The heats of sultry noontide, the dews of eve and morn Have nourished, fed, and ripened the wide-spread fields of

corn:

The sun has poured upon them its rays of warmth and

light,

And the moonbeams fallen o'er them in the tranquil hours

of night :

Across their face spring showers and summer storms have passed;

They have rustled underneath the breeze, and rolled before the blast.

And now the sturdy reaper comes, at the call of harvesttime,

And the ready grain is levelled, in all its golden prime :

It bows before the sickle's edge, and sinks upon the ground; By willing hands 'tis gathered, and in sheaves together

bound,

Which, piled upon the close-reaped fields, range far before the sight,

And in the fading twilight seem like an army camped at night.

Soon the happy cry of "Harvest home" floats through the evening air,

And a thousand cheerful voices tell of gladness everywhere ;

And, with overflowing gratitude for a gracious Father's love,

While thus He pours His gifts below, we raise our hearts

above,

And, for all the joys and blessings that follow in its train, Thank God for sending harvest to be with us once again.

WOODLAND WANDERINGS.

HROUGH the woods I wandered,

ΤΗ

When a happy child,

Where the early blossoms
Bloomed in beauty wild.

There I sought the primrose,
There the bluebell found;
There with wreaths of flowers
I my playmates crowned;

There, with hearts unburdened,
Singing all day long,

We our voices mingled

With the wild bird's song.

Through the woods I wandered,
When a merry boy,

While the glades re-echoed

To my shouts of joy.

Seeking nuts or berries,

Eager roamed I there, Mocked the hidden cuckoo, Roused the startled hare ;

Or, some nest to plunder,

Climbed the topmost trees, Swung upon their branches, Swaying in the breeze.