If over the sea we two were bound,

What port, dear child, would we choose for ours
We would sail, and sail, till at last we found

This fairy gold of a million flowers.
Yet, darling, we'd find, if at home we stayed,
Of many small joys our pleasures are made,
More near than we think,

- very close at hand,

?

Edith Matilda Thomas.

SONG OF PRAISE.

FAIREST of stars, last in the train of night.

If better thou belong not to the dawn

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines -
With every plant, in sign of worship, wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye birds,
That singing up to heaven's gate ascend,

Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praise.

-John Milton.

THE COMING OF SPRING.

T

HERE'S something in the air

That's new and sweet and rare

A scent of summer things,

A whir as if of wings.

There's something, too, that's new

In the color of the blue

That's in the morning sky,
Before the sun is high.

And though on plain and hill
'Tis winter, winter still,

There's something seems to say
That winter's had its day.

And all this changing tint,
This whispering stir and hint
Of bud and bloom and wing,
Is the coming of the spring.

And to-morrow or to-day
The brooks will break away
From their icy, frozen sleep,
And run, and laugh, and leap.

And the next thing, in the woods, The catkins in their hoods

Of fur and silk will stand,

A sturdy little band.

And the tassels soft and fine
Of the hazel will entwine,
And the elder branches show
Their buds against the snow.

So, silently but swift,
Above the wintry drift,
The long days gain and gain,
Until on hill and plain, --

Once more, and yet once more,
Returning as before,

We see the bloom of birth

Make young again the earth.

- Nora Perry.

THE MESSENGER OF SPRING.

AIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!
Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy
rural seat,

And woods thy welcome
sing.

What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear; Hast thou a star to guide thy path,

Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,

And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The schoolboy, wand'ring through the wood

To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,

And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year!

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,

Companions of the spring.

-John Logan.

I

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

COME, I come! ye have called me long;

I come o'er the mountains, with light and song;

Ye may trace my step o'er the waking earth
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,

And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes
Are veiled with wreaths as Italian plains;
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!

I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,

And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,

And the moss looks bright, where my step has been.

I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain brows,
They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

- Felicia D. Hemans.

SPRING.

OOK all around thee! How the spring advances!

LOOK

New life is playing through the gay, green trees, See how, in yonder bower, the light leaf dances To the bird's tread, and to the quivering breeze! How every blossom in the sunlight glances! The winter-frost in his dark cavern flees,

And earth, warm-wakened, feels through every vein The kindling influence of the vernal rain.