She calls her children to rejoice,

And round them throws her arms of love.

Drink in her influence; low-born care,

And all the train of mean desire,
Refuse to breathe this holy air,
And 'mid this living light expire.

SUMMER STORM.

-Andrews Norton.

HE woods grew dark, as though they

The thunder growled among the dark brown hills;

And the thin, wasted, shining summer rills

Grew joyful with the coming of the rain;
And doubtfully was shifting every vane
On the town spires, with changing gusts of wind;
Till came the storm-blast, furious and blind,
'Twixt gorges of the mountains, and drove back
The light sea breeze; then waxed the heavens black,
Until the lightning leapt from cloud to cloud,
With clattering thunder, and the piled-up crowd
Began to turn from steely blue to gray,
And toward the sea the thunder drew away,

Leaving the north wind blowing steadily
The rain-clouds from Olympus; while the sea
Seemed mingled with the low clouds and the rain;
And one might think that never now again
The sunny grass would make a pleasant bed
For tired limbs.

- William Morris.

AFTER THE SUMMER STORM.

AR off, among the norland hills,
The distant thunders rolled,

Soft rain clouds dipped their fringes down
Across the evening gold.

Heaven's stormy dome was rent, and high

Above me shone the summer sky;

Ever more serene it grew,

Fading off into the blue,
Till the boundless hyaline

Seemed melting into depths divine,
And the angels came and went
Through the opening firmament.
In all the glooming hollows lay
A light more beautiful than day;
All the blossom bells waved slowly
In the evening's golden calm,
And the hum of distant voices

Sounding like a vesper psalm.

Till, dimly seen, through day's departing bloom, The far-off lamps of heaven began to fling

Their trembling beams athwart the dewy gloom,

As evening, on the horizon's airy ring,
Winnowing the darkness with her silver wing,
Descended like an angel, calm and still.

Sarah Helen Whitman.

THE CLOSE OF A RAINY DAY.

HE sky was dark and gloomy;

TH

We heard the sound of rain

Dripping from eaves and tossing leaves,

And driving against the pane.

The clouds hung low o'er the ocean,

The ocean gray and wan,

Where one lone sail before the gale

Like a spirit was driven on.

The screaming sea-fowl hovered

Above the boiling main,

And flapped wide wings in narrowing rings,

Seeking for rest in vain.

The sky grew wilder and darker,

Darker and wilder the sea,

And night with her dusky pinions.

Swept down in stormy glee.

Then lo! from the western heaven

The veil was rent in twain,

And a flood of light and glory

Spread over the heaving main.

It changed the wave-beat islands
To Islands of the Blest,

And the far-off sail like a spirit

Seemed vanishing into rest.

"The Hawthorn Tree."- Nathan Haskell Dole.

A

THE BROOKLET.

LITTLE farther on, there is a brook

Where the breeze lingers idly

Beside its banks, through the whole
livelong day,

Ere yet I noted much the speed of time,
And knew him but in songs and ballad-books,
Nor cared to know him better, I have lain.

THE BOY AND THE BROOK.

OWN from yon distant mountain height

The brooklet flows through the village street;

A boy comes forth to wash his hands,

Washing, yes washing, there he stands,
In the water cool and sweet.

Brook, from what mountain dost thou come?
O, my brooklet, cool and sweet!

I come from yon mountain high and cold,
Where lieth the new snow on the old,
And melts in the summer heat.

Brook, to what river dost thou go?
O, my brooklet, cool and sweet!
I go to the river there below,
Where in bunches the violets grow,
And sun and shadow meet,

Brook, to what garden dost thou go?
O, my brooklet, cool and sweet!
I go to the garden in the vale,
Where all night long the nightingale
Her love-song doth repeat.

Brook, to what fountain dost thou go?
O, my brooklet, cool and sweet!

I go to the fountain at whose brink
The maid that loves thee comes to drink
And whenever she looks therein

I rise to meet her, and kiss her chin,

And my joy is then complete.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.