How calm and quiet a delight

Is it, alone,
To read and meditate and write,

By none offended, and offending none ! ! To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease; And, pleasing a man's self, none other to displease.

The deeds we do, the words we say,
Into still air they seem to fleet,

We count them ever past ;

But they shall last, —
In the dread judgment they

And we shall meet. .

Ye winds that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more !
My friends, — do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me? 0, tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place,

And mercy - encouraging thought !Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.

WILLIAM COWPER.

THE GOOD GREAT MAN. And there are some like springs, that bubbling How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits

burst Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains!

To follow dusty ways, It seems a story from the world of spirits And run with offered cup to quench his thirst When any man obtains that which he merits,

i Where the tired traveller strays ; Or any merits that which he obtains.

That never ask the meadows if they want

What is their joy to give : For shame, my friend ! renounce this idle strain! Unasked, their lives to other life they grant, What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? So self-bestowed they live! Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain, Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. Wherein all waters fall ; Hath he not always treasures, always friends, -- TT

That girdles the broail earth, and draws the tide, The good great man ? Three treasures,

Feeding and bearing all ;

love, That broods the mists, that sends the clouds and light,

abroad, And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath;

That takes, again to give ; And three fast friends, more sure than day or

nan day or Even the great and loving heart of God, night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

Whereby all love doth live.

CAROLINE S. SPENCER. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

EXAMPLE
WE scatter seeds with careless hand,
And dream we ne'er shall see them more ;

But for a thousand years

Their fruit appears, In weeds that mar the land,

Or healthful store.

THE SEASIDE WELL.
"Waters flowed over my head; then I said, I am cut oft." -
Lamentations, iii. 54.
ONE day I wåndered where the salt sea-tide

Backward had drawn its wave,
And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside

To wild flowers gave.

ANONYMOUS

Freshly it sparkled in the sun's bright look, | Above my head the waves may come and go, And mid its pebbles strayed,

Long brood the deluge dire, As if it thought to join a happy brook

| But life lies hidden in the depths below In some green glade.

Till waves retire, -

Till death, that reigns with overflowing flood, But soon the heavy sea's resistless swell

At length withdraw its sway,
Came rolling in once more,
Spreading its bitter o'er the clear sweet well

And life rise sparkling in the sight of God

An endless day.
And pebbled shore.
Like a fair star thick buried in a cloud,

Or life in the grave's gloom,
The well, enwrapped in a deep watery shroud,

THE MEN OF OLD.
Sunk to its tomb.
As one who by the beach roams far and wide,

I KNOW not that the men of old
Remnant of wreck to save,

Were better than men now,
Again I wandered when the salt sea-tide

Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, Withdrew its wave ;

Of more ingenuous brow ;
And there, inchanged, no taint in all its sweet,

I heed not those who pine for force
No anger in its tone,

A ghost of time to raise,
Still as it thought some happy brook to meet,

As if they thus could check the course
The spring flowed on.

Of these appointed days.
While waves of bitterness rolled o'er its head,

Still it is true, and over-true,
Its heart had folded deep

That I delight to close
Within itself, and quiet fancies led,

This book of life self-wise and new,
As in a sleep ;

And let my thoughts repose
Till, when the ocean loosed his heavy chain,

On all that humble happiness
And gave it back to day,

The world has since foregone, --
Calmly it turned to its own life again

The daylight of contentedness
And gentle way.

That on those faces shone !
Happy, I thought, that which can draw its life
Deep from the nether springs,

With rights, though not too closely scanned,
Safe 'neath the pressure, tranquil mid the strife, I Enjoyed as far as known,
Of surface things.

With will by no reverse unmanned,
Safe — for the sources of the nether springs

With pulse of even tone,
Up in the far hills lie;

They from to-day, and from to-night,
Calm --- for the life its power and freshness brings Expected nothing more
Down from the sky.

Than yesterday and yesternight

Had proffered them before.
So, should temptations threaten, and should sin
Roll in its whelming flooil,

To them was life a simple art
Make strong the fountain of thy grace within

Of duties to be done,
My soul, O God !

A game where each man took his part,
If bitter scorn, and looks, once kind, grown

A race where all must run ;
strange,

A battle whose great scheme and scope
With crushing chillness fall,

They little cared to know,
From secret wells let sweetness rise, nor change

Content, as men-at-arms, to cope
My heart to gall !

Each with his fronting foe.
When sore thy hand doth press, and waves of
thine

Man now his virtue's diadem
Afflict me like a sea, -

Puts on, and proudly wears , -
Deep calling deep, -- infuse from source divine Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them,
Thy peace in me!

Like instincts unawares ;
And when death's tide, as with a brimful cup, Blending their souls' sublimest needs
Over my soul doth pour,

With tasks of every day
Let hope survive, -- a well that springeth up They went about their gravest deeds
Forevermore!

As noble boys at play.