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EARLY RISING.

DID you but know, when bathed in dew,
How sweet the little violet grew,
Amidst the thorny brake;

How fragrant blew the ambient air,
O'er beds of primroses so fair,
Your pillow you'd forsake.

Paler than the autumnal leaf,
Or the wan hue of pining grief,

The cheek of sloth shall grow ;
Nor can cosmetic, wash, or ball,
Nature's own favourite tints recall,
If once you let them go.

HERRICK.

SPEAK GENTLY!

SPEAK gently! It is better far
To rule by love than fear :
Speak gently! let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here.

Speak gently to the little child,

Its love you're sure to gain; Teach it in accents soft and mild, It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they
Will have enough to bear;
Pass through this life as best they may;
'Tis full of anxious care.

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the care-worn heart; The sands of life are nearly run, Let such in peace depart.

Speak gently to the erring-know
They may have toiled in vain;
Perchance unkindness made them so,
Oh! win them back again.

Speak gently! He who gave His life
To bend man's stubborn will,
When elements were fierce in strife
Said to them, "peace be still!"

Speak gently! 'Tis a little thing
Dropt in the heart's deep well;
The good, the joy, that it may bring,
Eternity shall tell.

THE MOSS ROSE.

ANON.

THE angel of the flowers one day,
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay ;
That spirit to whose charge 'tis given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven;
Awaking from his light repose,

The Angel whispered to the rose ;-
"O fondest object of my care,
Still fairest found, where all are fair;
For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me,
Ask what thou wilt 'tis granted thee!"
"Then said the rose, with deepened glow,
On me another grace bestow :"

The spirit paused in silent thought,—
What grace was there that flower had not?
'Twas but a moment-o'er the rose
A veil of moss the Angel throws,
And, robed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed?

FROM THE GERMAN OF KRUMMACHER.

THE STARS.

No cloud obscures the summer sky,
The moon in brightness walks on high,
And, set in azure, every star
Shines, a pure gem of heaven, afar!

Child of the earth! oh! lift thy glance
To yon bright firmament's expanse ;
The glories of its realm explore,
And gaze, and wonder, and adore!

Doth it not speak to every sense
The marvels of omnipotence?
Seest thou not there the Almighty's name
Inscribed in characters of flame?

Count o'er those lamps of quenchless light,
That sparkle through the shades of night;
Behold them !-can a mortal boast
To number that celestial host?

Mark well each little star, whose rays
In distant splendour meet thy gaze;

Each is a world by God sustained,
Who from eternity hath reigned.

What then art thou, oh! child of clay!
Amid creation's grandeur, say!
E'en as an insect on the breeze,
E'en as a dew-drop, lost in seas!

Yet fear thou not! the sovereign hand
Which spread the ocean and the land,
And hung the rolling spheres in air,
Hath e'en for thee a Father's care!

HEMANS.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

UNDER a spreading chesnut tree
The village smithy stands,
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;

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