* 63 *

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold.

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet1 accord 2 Answered, "The names of those who love the

Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. 66

Nay, not so," Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had

blessed,

And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

1 all sweet, wholly or very sweet.

2 accord, harmony.

* 64 *

THE THRUSH'S NEST.

WITHIN a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a mole-hill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound
With joy; and oft, an unintruding guest,

I watched her secret toils from day to day, How true she warped the moss to form her nest, And modelled it within with wool and clay.

And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, There lay her shining eggs as bright as flowers, Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue;

And there I witnessed in the summer hours A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly, Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

J. CLARE.

*65*

THE BIRD IN A CAGE.

OH! who would keep a little bird confined,
When cowslip1 bells are nodding in the wind,
When every hedge as with "good-morrow" rings,
And heard from wood to wood the blackbird
sings?

1 cowslip, the English cowslip, — a specics of primrose.

Oh! who would keep a little bird confined
In his cold wiry prison? Let him fly,
And hear him sing, "How sweet is Liberty!"

W. L. BOWLES.

* 66 *

THE WORM.

TURN, turn, thy hasty foot aside,
Nor crush that helpless worm!
The frame thy wayward1 looks deride
Required a God to form.

The common Lord of all that move,
From whom thy being flowed,

A portion of his boundless love
On that poor worm bestowed.

The sun, the moon, the stars, he made
For all his creatures free,

And spread o'er earth the grassy blade,
For worms, as well as thee.

Let them enjoy their little day,
Their humble bliss receive;
Oh! do not lightly take away
The life thou canst not give.

T. GISBORNE.

1 wayward, wilful.

* 67 *

THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW

WORM.

A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheered the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the Glowworm by his spark:
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same Power Divine
Taught you to sing and me to shine,
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night.'
The songster heard this short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.

W. COWPER.

* 68 *

BEAUTIFUL THINGS.

WHAT millions of beautiful things there must be In this mighty world! Who could reckon them all?

The tossing, the foaming, the wide flowing sea,
And thousands of rivers that into it fall.

Oh, there are the mountains, half covered with

snow;

And tall and dark trees, like a girdle of green;
And waters that wind in the valleys below,
Or roar in the caverns, too deep to be seen.

Vast caves in the earth, full of wonderful things, The bones of strange animals, jewels, and spars ;1 Or, far up in Iceland, the hot boiling springs, Like fountains of feathers or showers of stars!

Here spread the sweet meadows with thousands of flowers;

Far away are old woods that for ages have grown: Wild elephants sleep in the shade of their bowers, Or troops of young antelopes think them their own.

Oh, yes, they are glorious all to behold,

And pleasant to read of, and curious to know; And something of God and his wisdom we're told, ⠀⠀atever we look at, wherever we go.

1 spar, a shining mineral.

JANE TAYLOR.