WH

THE ROBIN.

'HEN some heavy storm of winter
Passes from the darkened sky,

And the clouds in broken masses
Fast across the heavens fly ;

When some fitful gleam of sunshine
Breaks the gloom that hangs around,
While the droppings of the shower
Patter thickly to the ground;

Often have I heard a robin,

Perched upon some lofty tree, Pour, in outbreak loud and sudden, Strains of sweetest melody.

Like some heaven-inspired singer,

In an hour of dark despair,

Soothing with his holy music

Hearts oppressed with pain and care;

Like some hopeful, fleet forerunner

Of the joys of coming spring.—

Oh! I cannot but be happy

When I hear the robin sing.

Many a bird that all the summer
Carolled gaily every day,

At the first approach of winter,

Flies to warmer lands away.

D

But not thus the faithful robin :

Winter, with its snow-drift white,
Draws him nearer to our houses,
Makes him dearer to our sight.

Other birds, when all is pleasant,
Sing the leaves and flowers among ;

But, when leaves and flowers are withered,
Hush the music of their song.

But not so this merry

minstrel :

Though in summer seldom heard,

In the dreary days of winter

All his soul to speech is stirred.

Thanks to thee, thou cheerful robin,
For the lesson thou dost give!
May I, with a grateful spirit,

Learn from thee the way to live!

Thus, when fast around is fading
All that once was fresh and fair,
When misfortune gathers o'er me,
And the heavy gloom of care ;

Still, in patient hope abiding,

May I watch the tempest fall,
And, like thee, when dark days lower,
Boldly meet and face them all!

And, like thee, though silent often
When the gay and merry sing,
While the happy fields of summer

With their tuneful voices ring;

Yet, when winter winds are wailing,

And the days are short and drear, Then to cheer the hearts of others, May my song be loud and clear!

THE EVENING STAR.

H

AIL! thou star of evening,

Far more bright to me
Than the noontide's glory,
Welcome though it be!
Thou, the first-born beauty
Of the starry height,
Sentinel of heaven,

First-lit lamp of night!

Fair is morning's planet,
Heralding the dawn,
Melting in the sunbeams,
When the night is gone :

But the star of evening
Is to me more dear,

Like hope's beacon, gleaming
When the gloom is near.

When the summer sunset
Softly fades and dies,
And the night-clouds gather

Over golden skies,

Through the spreading shadows

Breaks thy cheering light,

And, as night grows darker,

Grows more clear and bright.

When the storms of winter

Lower in the west,

And the sun enshrouded
Hurries to his rest,
Through the rising tempest
Peers thy peaceful ray,
Like the soaring spirit
Of the vanished day.

Oh! when clouds of sorrow
Gather o'er my soul,

And the storms of trouble

Round about me roll,

May some holy comfort
On my pathway shine
From the skies above me,
Sweet and pure as thine!

And, when death's dark valley
I at length shall tread,
And its unknown terrors
Thicken round my head,

Then, through doubt and darkness,

On my dying brow,

May a light from heaven

Beam as bright as thou!