THE FOUNTAIN.

We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring;

As quick a growth to meet decay

As you or any thing:

We die,

As your hours do; and dry

Away

Like the summer's rain,

Or as the pearls of morning dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

THE FOUNTAIN.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

INTO the sunshine,

Full of the light,

Leaping and flashing
From morn till night!

Into the moonlight,

Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like

When the winds blow!

Into the starlight,

Rushing in spray,

Happy at midnight,

Happy by day!

325

THE NOBLE NATURE.

327

THE NOBLE NATURE.

B. JONSON.

It is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;
A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night –
It was the plant and flower of Light.

In small proportions we just beauty see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

LIFE'S "GOOD-MORNING."

ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD.

LIFE! we've been long together,

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;

Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good-Night, but in some brighter clime

Bid me Good-Morning.

328

HASTE NOT! REST NOT!

HASTE NOT! REST NOT!

GOETHE.

(Anonymous Translation.)

WITHOUT haste! without rest!
Bind the motto to thy breast;
Bear it with thee as a spell;

Storm or sunshine, guard it well!

Heed not flowers that round thee bloom,

Bear it onward to the tomb!

Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed

Mar for aye the spirit's speed!

Ponder well, and know the right,
Onward then, with all thy might!
Haste not! years can ne'er atone
For one reckless action done.

Rest not! Life is sweeping by,
Go and dare, before you die ;
Something mighty and sublime
Leave behind to conquer time!
Glorious 'tis to live for aye,

When these forms have passed away.

Haste not! rest not! calmly wait;

Meekly bear the storms of fate!

Duty be thy polar guide;

Do the right whate'er betide!

Haste not! rest not! conflicts past,

God shall crown thy work at last.

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US. 329

BRINGING OUR SHEAVES WITH US.

ELIZABETH AKERS.

THE time for toil has passed, and night has come,
The last and saddest of the harvest eves;
Worn out with labor long and wearisome,
Drooping and faint, the reapers hasten home,
Each laden with his sheaves.

Last of the laborers, thy feet I gain,

Lord of the harvest! and my spirit grieves That I am burdened, not so much with grain, As with a heaviness of heart and brain; Master, behold my sheaves!

Few, light, and worthless,

- yet their trifling weight

Through all my frame a weary aching leaves;
For long I struggled with my hopeless fate,
And stayed and toiled till it was dark and late —
Yet these are all my sheaves.

Full well I know I have more tares than wheat — Brambles and flowers, dry stalks and withered leaves;

Wherefore I blush and weep, as at thy feet
I kneel down reverently and repeat,

I know these blossoms, clustering heavily,
With evening dew upon thy folded leaves,