HYMN WRITTEN FOR A SUNDAY SCHOOL.
"And his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us?
Behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing.
"And he said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not
that I must be about my Father's business? "—Luke ii. 48, 49
I.
Thus early was Christ's course begun,
Thus radiant dawned celestial day;
And those who such a race would run,
As early should be on the way.
II.
His Father's business was his care,
Yet in man's favor still he grew:
O, might we learn, by thought and prayer,
Like him a work of love to do!
III.
Wisdom and virtue still he sought,
Nor ignorant nor vile despised:
True was each action, pure each thought,
And each pure hope he realized.
IV.
The empires of this world, in vain,
Offered their sceptres to his hand;
Fearless he trod the stormy main,
Fearless 'mid throngs of foes could stand.
V.
Yet with his courage and his power
Combined such sweetness and such love,
He could revere the simplest flower,
The vilest sinners firm reprove.
VI.
For all mankind he came, nor yet
An infant's visit would deny;
Nor friend nor mother did forget
In his last hour of agony.
VII.
O, children, ask him to impart
That spirit clear and temper mild,
Which made the mother in her heart
Keep all the sayings of her child.
VIII.
Bless him who said, of such as you
His Father's kingdom is, and still,
His yoke to bear, his work to do,
Study his life to learn his will.
DESERTION.
TRANSLATION OF ONE OF GARCILASO'S ECLOGUES.
With my lamenting touched, the lofty trees
Incline their graceful heads without a breeze;
The listening birds forego their joyous song,
For soft and mournful strains, which echoes faint prolong.
Lions and bears resign the charms of sleep
To hear my lonely plaint, and see me weep;
At my approaching death e'en stones relent.
Yet though yourself the fatal cause you know,
Not once on me those lovely eyes are bent:
Flow freely, tears! 'tis meet that you should flow!
Although for my relief thou wilt not come,
Leave not the place where once thou loved'st to roam!
Here thou mayst rove secure from meeting me;
With a torn heart forever hence I flee.
Come, if 'twere this alone thy footsteps stayed,
Here the soft meadow, the delightful shade,
The roses now in flower, the waters clear,
Invite thee to the valley once so dear.
Come, and bring with thee thy late-chosen love;
Each object shall thy perfidy reprove;
Since to another thou hast given thy heart,
From this sweet scene forever I depart.
And soon kind Death my sorrows shall remove,
The bitter ending of my faithful love.
SONG WRITTEN FOR A MAY DAY FESTIVAL.
TO BE SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "THE BONNY BOAT."
I.
O, blesséd be this sweet May day,
The fairest of the year;
The birds are heard from every spray,
And the blue sky shines so clear!
White blossoms deck the apple tree,
Blue violets the plain;
Their fragrance tells the wand'ring bee
That Spring is come again.
We'll cull the blossoms from the bough
Where robins gayly sing,
We'll wreathe them for our queen's pure brow,
We'll wreathe them for our king.
II.
The winter wind is bleak and sad,
And chill the winter rain;
But these May gales blow warm and glad,
And charm the heart from pain.
The sick, the poor rejoice once more,
Pale cheeks resume their glow,
And those who thought their day was o'er
New life to May suns owe.
And we, in youth and health so gay,
Sheltered by love and care,
How should we joy in blooming May,
And bless its balmy air!
III.
We are the children of the Spring;
Our home is always green;
Green be the garland of our king,
The livery of our queen.
The gardener's care the seed has strown,
To deck our home with flowers;
Our Father's love from high has shone,
And sent the needed showers.
Barren indeed the plants must be,
If they should not disclose,
Tended and cherished with such toil,
The lily and the rose.
IV.
Meanwhile through the wild wood we'll rove,
Where earliest flowerets grow,
And greet each simple bud with love,
Which tells us what to do—
That, though untended, we may bloom
And smile on all around,
And one day rise from earth's low tomb,
To live where light is found.
A modest violet be our queen,
Still fragrant, though alone,
Our king a laurel—evergreen—
To which no blight is known.
V.
So let us bless the sweet May day,
And pray the coming year
May see us walk the upward way—
Minds earnest, conscience clear;
That fruit Spring's amplest hope may crown,
And every wingéd day
Make to our hearts more dear, more known,
The hope, the peace of May!
So cull the blossoms from the bough
Where birds so gayly sing;
We'll wreathe them for our queen's pure brow,
We'll wreathe them for our king.
CARADORI SINGING.
Let not the heart o'erladen hither fly,
Hoping in tears to vent its misery:
She soars not like the lark with eager cry,
Not hers the robin's notes of love and joy;
Nor, like the nightingale's love-descant, tells
Her song the truths of the heart's hidden wells.
Come, if thy soul be tranquil, and her voice
Shall bid the tranquil lake laugh and rejoice;
Shall lightly warble, flutter, hover, dance,
And charm thee by its sportive elegance.
A finished style the highest art has given,
And a fine organ she received from heaven:
But genius casts not here one living ray;
Thou shalt approve, admire, not weep, to-day.