Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,

And thy waters disappear,

Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.

More than this; thy name reminds me Of three friends, all true and tried ; And that name, like magic, binds me Closer, closer to thy side.

Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers.

On the hearth-stone of my heart!

"T is for this, thou Silent River!

That my spirit leans to thee; Thou hast been a generous giver, Take this idle song from me.

BLIND BARTIMEUS.

BLIND Bartimeus at the gates

Of Jericho in darkness waits;

He hears the crowd; - he hears a breath

Say, "It is Christ of Nazareth !”

And calls, in tones of agony,

̓Ιησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με!

The thronging multitudes increase;
Blind Bartimeus, hold thy peace!
But still, above the noisy crowd,
The beggar's cry is shrill and loud;
Until they say, "He calleth thee!"
Θάρσει, έγειραι, φωνεῖ σε!

Then saith the Christ, as silent stands

The crowd, "What wilt thou at my hands ?"
And he replies, "O give me light!

Rabbi, restore the blind man's sight!"
And Jesus answers, "Υπαγε

Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε

Ye that have eyes, yet cannot see,

In darkness and in misery,

Recall those mighty Voices Three,

̓Ιησοῦ, ἐλέησόν με !

Θάρσει, ἔγειραι, ύπαγε!

Η πίστις σου σέσωκέ σε !

THE GOBLET OF LIFE.

FILLED is Life's goblet to the brim;
And though my eyes with tears are dim,
I see its sparkling bubbles swim,
And chaunt a melancholy hymn

With solemn voice and slow.

No purple flowers,

-no garlands green,

Conceal the goblet's shade or sheen, Nor maddening draughts of Hippocrene, Like gleams of sunshine, flash between Thick leaves of misletoe.

This goblet, wrought with curious art,
Is filled with waters, that upstart,

When the deep fountains of the heart,
By strong convulsions rent apart,
Are running all to waste.

And as it mantling passes round,
With fennel is it wreathed and crowned,
Whose seed and foliage sun-imbrowned
Are in its waters steeped and drowned,
And give a bitter taste.

Above the lowly plants it towers,
The fennel, with its yellow flowers,
And in an earlier age than ours

Was gifted with the wondrous powers,

Lost vision to restore.