THE tempest rages wild and high,
The waves lift up their voice and cry
Fierce answers to the angry sky,-

Miserere Domine.

Through the black night and driving rain,

A ship is struggling, all in vain

To live upon the stormy main ;

Miserere Domine.

The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,
Vain is it now to strive or dare;

A cry goes up of great despair,

Miserere Domine.

The stormy voices of the main,
The moaning wind, and pelting rain
Beat on the nursery window pane:—
Miserere Dom 'ne.

Warm curtained was the little bed,

Soft pillowed was the little head;

"The storm will wake the child," they said :Miserere Domine.

Cowering among his pillows white

He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,
"Father, save those at sea to-night!"
Miserere Domine.

The morning shone all clear and gay,
On a ship at anchor in the bay,

And on a little child at play,

Gloria tibi Domine!

t

THE REQUIAL

LOUD roared the Tempest,
Fast fell the sleet;
A little Child Angel

Passed down the street,
With trailing pinions,
And weary feet.

The moon was hidden;
No stars were bright;
So she could not shelter
In heaven that night,
For the Angels' ladders
Are rays of light.

She beat her wings

At each window pane,
And pleaded for shelter,
But all in vain :--
"Listen," they said,

"To the pelting rain !"

She sobbed, as the laughter
And mirth grew higher,
"Give me rest and shelter
Beside your fire,

And I will give you

Your heart's desire."

The dreamer sat watching
His embers gleam,
While his heart was floating
Down hope's bright stream;
So he wove her wailing
Into his dream.

The worker toiled on,

For his time was brief;
The mourner was nursing
Her own pale grief :
They heard not the promise
That brought relief.

But fiercer the Tempest
Rose than before,
When the Angel paused

At a humble door,
And asked for shelter
And help once more.

A weary woman,

Pale, worn, and thin, With the brand upon her

Of want and sin,

Heard the Child Angel

And took her in.

Took her in gently,

And did her best
To dry her pinions;
And make her rest
With tender pity

Upon her breast

When the eastern morning

Grew bright and red,

Up the first sunbeam

The Angel fled;

Having kissed the woman
And left her-dead.

ECHOES.

STILL the angel stars are shining,
Still the rippling waters flow,
But the angel-voice is silent
That I heard so long ago.
Hark! the echoes murmur low,
Long ago!

Still the wood is dim and lonely,
Still the plashing fountains play,
But the past and all its beauty,
Whither has it fled away?
Hark! the mournful echoes say,
Fled away!

Still the bird of night complaineth, (Now, indeed, her song is pain,) Visions of my happy hours,

Do I call and call in vain?
Hark! the echoes cry again,
All in vain!

Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes! Once I loved your voices well; heart is sick and wearyDays of old, a long farewell!

Now

my

Hark! the echoes sad and dreary
Cry farewell, farewell!

IN THE WOOD.

In the wood where shadows are deepest
From the branches overhead,

Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster,
And the softest moss is spread,

I met to-day with a fairy,

And I followed her where she led.

Some magical words she uttered,

I alone could understand,

For the sky grew bluer and brighter;
While there rose on either hand
The cloudy walls of a palace

That was built in Fairy-land.

And I stood in a strange enchantment;
I had known it all before:

In

my heart of hearts was the magic Of days that will come no more,

The magic of joy departed,

That Time can never restore.

That never, ah, never, never,
Never again can be:-

Shall I tell you what powerful fairy
Built up this palace for me?
It was only a little white Violet
I found at the root of a tree.