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FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON.

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills,

Far marked with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high,

My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below;
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As gathering sweet flowerets she stems thy clear

wave.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

BURNS.

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

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THE EARLY DAWN.

On seeing a picture of Morning on the Mountains.

How beautiful is morning! I have been,

Painter, like thee, a wanderer, when the hills Slept in their own great shadows, and have seen The dawn kiss out the stars, have heard the rills Warbling unseen, and sending forth the thrills Of soothing melody. Methinks thou art

My spirit's own interpreter, we gaze
In kindred feelings, gaze, ay, heart to heart,
As friend with friend.

GEORGE HUME.

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.

ST. MATTHEW 6: 28.

SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,

Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, What more than magic in you lies,

To fill the heart's fond view?

In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow, on Life's downward way,

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THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

How soothing! in our last decay
Memorials prompt and true.

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crowned the sunshine hours.
Of happy wanderers there.

Fallen all beside,-the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In Reason's world what storms are rife,
What passions range and glare!

But cheerful and unchanged the while
Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.
The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought;
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,

Your innocent mirth may borrow.

THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.

The birds of air before us fleet,

They cannot brook our shame to meet―
But we may taste your solace sweet

And come again to-morrow.

Ye fearless in your nests abide

Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried

By all but lowly eyes:

For ye could draw th' admiring gaze
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys:
Your order wild, your fragrant maze,
He taught us how to prize.

Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour,
As when He paused and owned you good;

His blessing on earth's primal bower,

Ye felt it all renewed.

What care ye now, if winter's storm
Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form?
Christ's blessing at your heart is warm,
Ye fear no vexing mood.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,

That daily court you and caress,

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96

THE QUESTION.

How few the happy secret find

Of your calm loveliness!

"Live for to-day! to-morrow's light
To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight,
Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
And heaven thy morn will bless."

KEBLE.

THE QUESTION.

I DREAMED that, as I wandered by the way,
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring,
And gentle odors led my steps astray,

Mixed with a sound of waters murmuring

Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay
Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling

Its green arms round the bosom of the stream,
But kissed it and then fled, as thou mightest in

dream.

There grew pied windflowers and violets,

Daisies, those pearled Arcturi of the earth. The constellated flower that never sets;

Faint oxlips; tender bluebells, at whose birth