Poor little butterfly! dying so sadly
At the rise of the moon o’er the ripe-gold grain;
Dost thou rue of the pleasure thou tasted so madly,
Would’st thou take back thy love to take life again?
Ah, no! Love is sweeter and meeter than duty,
And shall hold thee in joy till thy last breath beats,
Till thou liest at rest—a dead marvel of beauty
Surrounded by sweets.
COWPER.
A gentle stream purled on its peaceful way
Through woodlands fair and meadows wondrous sweet,
Chancing at length a cavern dark to meet
Within whose depth ne’er fell the light of day;
Lo! as it entered, heavenward flew the spray
All loth to pass beyond and backward beat,
As though the natural course it would defeat
That plunged it where the sun cast not a ray.
Through that lone cave of blackness on it sped,
Its happy music turned to mournful sigh,
Until it reached the end, when earth and sky
Shone doubly bright that seemed for so long dead;—
Thus didst thou pass, sweet singer, through the gloom
Of life’s dark hollow. Light came at the tomb.
RAIN.
Love only laughs when sunshine floods the air,
When winds flute summer music through the trees,
When nature’s masquers are attired to please
And Flora holds gay gala everywhere;
But now Heaven’s brow is underknit with care,
Low clouds burst forth a-weeping, flowery leas
Are drowned with runnels and the ponds grow seas,
Leaves droop beneath the dripping loads they bear,
And silence reigns in each late lute-filled bough;
The cricket chorus and the humming crowd
That tell how labour lightens earth’s hard way
Are all—all gone. Love hears no music now—
Only an endless falling, sharp and loud,
The dreary rhythm of a rainy day.
HYMN.
When the calm of night is falling
And the cares of day are o’er,
Hear the voice of Jesus calling;—
Go to Him and sin no more.