THE MORNING STAR.

WELCOME, star of morning,
Herald of delight!

WEL

Publishing the tidings
Of departing night,
O'er the distant mountains
Beaming brightly down,
Like some priceless jewel
In a monarch's crown!

All the host of heaven

Hide their dazzled face, Ere the day's great ruler Rises to his place; Thou alone remainest

Till the gloom is past, Watch and ward still keeping, Faithful to the last.

When the rosy splendour
Of the summer dawn
Wakes the early shadows
On the dewy lawn,
Thy clear, crystal radiance

Fades before the eye,
Like the rainbow, melting

In the bright'ning sky.

When the winter morning,

Dark with storm and cloud, Draws the folds asunder

Of its misty shroud, Brilliantly thou gleamest On the gladdened sight, Like the flaming banner Of the march of light.

Oh! be this the lesson

I

may learn from thee,—

At the post of duty

Constant still to be,

To none other yielding

Till my task is done, Straight my course pursuing Till the goal is won!

And, though long and weary Earth's dark night appear, May the hope of heaven

Shine undimmed and clear, Till the day of promise

Break in glories bright,

And faith, long expectant,

Lose itself in sight!

THE

A QUIET PLACE.*

HERE'S a quiet place where I often go,
When the sun is in the west,

And the evening breezes, as they blow
O'er the trees above and the lake below,
Seem sighing themselves to rest;

Where under the bank beneath the feet
There lies a hidden well;

Where the hanging boughs the waters meet,
And the moor-hen finds a safe retreat,
And the swan delights to dwell.

For there have I heard the cuckoo's call,
And the lay of the nightingale,

The cooing of doves in the tree-tops tall,
And the distant sound of the waterfall
Come creeping up the vale.

And in the far-off haze I have seen

The slopes of the circling hill,

And, the arching boughs of the trees between,
The broad expanse of the meadows green

Lie peacefully and still.

I have seen the water smooth as glass,

Or the ripples o'er it fleet,

When the winds that move it, as they pass,

Bear the scent of dew-besprinkled grass

And the odour of flowers sweet.

*The spot here referred to is Mongewell, near Wallingford, the seat of my kind patron, Mr. Geo. H. Brettle.

I have watched the shades of twilight glide Over the peaceful scene,

Till the stars stole forth on the heavens wide, And the moonbeams fell on the tranquil tide In streams of silver sheen.

Oh! there is no vale I ever knew

That has such charms for me,

Where the earth assumes a brighter hue,

And the sky seems tinged with a deeper blue, And the flowers more fair to see.

And still contented shall be my lot,
Whether I laugh or weep,

I

If, the busy cares of the world forgot, may visit that sweet, secluded spot, Where the woods and waters sleep.

"THE GRASS OF THE FIELD.”

WE

HEN at morn I walked the meadows,
Tall and thick the grass had sprung ;

Honey-seeking bees flew round it ;
High o’erhead the gay lark sung ;
While upon its nodding flowers
Many a glistening dew-drop hung.

Then I thought of hopes long cherished,
When my heart was young and light,
Works begun with brilliant promise,
When the morn of life was bright,
And the landscape of the future
Stretched before my raptured sight.

But I passed again at noontide-
Sadly changed was then the scene,
For the grass lay dry and withered
Which at morn was fresh and green,
While dead leaves were scattered round me
Where the blooming flowers had been.

And with saddened heart I pondered
O'er life's ever-changeful day ;
How my deeds in naught had ended;
How my hopes had flown away;
How at morn they proudly blossomed,
And at noon they withered lay.