By CARRIE CARLTON.
(Mrs. M. H. Chamberlain.)
A SPELL IS ON MY SPIRIT
A spell is on my spirit
And I cannot, cannot write,
All the teeming thoughts of glory
That crowd my soul tonight.
They come in quick succession,
Like the phantoms in a dream;
And they surge in shadowy billows,
Like the mist upon a stream.
Oh! had I but the language,
I would give these visions birth;
I would shadow their glorious meaning,
And their untold, hidden worth.
They were raised by wild thanksgiving,
For a blessed answered prayer;
And their fleeting, changing beauty,
Held my spirit breathless there.
I had pleaded, oh, how earnest
For one precious, precious boon;
For one gift to cheer this bosom,
That was desolate so soon.
Now I know my prayer is answered,
And my soul would fain adore,
Him whose promise is forever,
And is faithful evermore.
UNDER THE PINES.
By ADA F. MOORE.
Published by West and Co., Milwaukee, 1875.
LINES FOR THE TIMES
There's a certain class of people
In this sublunary sphere—
(And if I'm not mistaken,
You'll find them even here),
Who think the rare old precept
To the old Athenians given,
And esteemed so full of wisdom
That they deemed it came from Heaven,—
In this glorious age of progress
Has become quite obsolete;
So they choose another motto,
For these latter times more meet.
It is "know thyself" no longer—
So they say, and who can doubt them—
But "Mortal, know thy neighbors,
And everything about them!"