AND THE NEW YEAR.

27

And look'd on the world that beneath her lay,
Awoke from its sleep by the sun's first ray.
Oh! fair was that little child to behold,
With her bright blue eyes, and her tresses of
gold;-

But her brow was shaded, as though a fear
Were hid in the joy of the glad New Year;
And half to herself, and half aloud,
From her lips a solemn murmur flow'd :-

"The good old year, it is gone away— "Not a moment longer might it stay; "It brought me all that it had to bring"It scattered blessings beneath its wing"It told me all that it had to tell"And then it bade me a long farewell. "New Year! what hast thou brought for me? "Wilt thou be as kind a friend as he?"

She ceased, as though she waited reply,
And I thought a music wild swept by:-
:-

"Fair child! the answer must come from thee; "Art thou willing to make a friend of me? "I have many a precious gift in store; "Wilt thou take it, and love thy Saviour more?

"If I speak thee words of holy cheer,

"Wilt thou speak the words in thy brother's ear?

"If I bring thee seed of a costly growth,

"Wilt thou scatter the seed to the north and

south?

“If I make thee a little stream of bliss,

"Wilt thou water the barren wilderness ?"Oh! yes, the Good Shepherd has gather'd thee in;

"Then pity the children of sorrow and sin; "Let the near and the far be glad for thee, "And let all who thy lowly service see, "Inscribed on it read in the light of heaven— "Freely received and freely given.'

"Then, fair child, I will love thee well, "But what I shall do, I may not tell; 66 I may lengthen thy day of blessing below, "And that will be loving thee much, I know; "I may shorten thy day at thy Saviour's call, "And that will be loving thee most of all!"

MRS. THOMAS FISON.

1

LOVE.

LOVE you for beauty?
Then love not me;
The sun, golden-hair'd,
Is fairer to see.

Love you for youth?

Then love not me;

The spring every year
Comes in youthful glee.

Love you for riches?
Then love not me;
Love the bright pearls
In the deep blue sea.

Love you for love?

Oh! then love me;

And love me as I will love

Evermore thee.

GERMAN POETRY.

MAY.

OH! the merry May has pleasant hours,
And dreamily they glide,

As if they floated like the leaves
Upon a silver tide;

The trees are full of crimson buds,
And the woods are full of birds,
And the waters flow to music

Like a tune with pleasant words.

The verdure of the meadow-land
Is creeping to the hills;

The sweet blue-bosom'd violets
Are blowing by the rills;
The lilac has a load of balm

For every wind that stirs ;

And the larch stands green and beautiful Amid the sombre firs.

There's perfume upon every wind

Music in every tree

Dews for the moisture-loving flowersSweets for the sucking bee;

THE BOY AND HIS MOTHER.

31

The sick come forth for the healing South,

The young are gathering flowers;

And life is a tale of poetry,

That is told by golden hours.

N. P. WILLIS.

THE BOY AND HIS MOTHER.

"DEAR mother, oft you talk to me
About that world on high,
Where dwell the spirits of the just,
When their frail bodies die:
But I can scarcely understand
How they find entrance there;
I see no portals to the sky,

No pathway through the air.

"Sometimes when I have heard a lark
Sing sweetly as it flew,
I've wonder'd if the joyous bird
Aught of that fair land knew.

I've wish'd that I had wings like his,
To bear me to the sun;

And see if there the loved ones rest

Whose earthly course is run.