PICTURES AND FLOWERS. PLEASANT CHILDREN. EVERYWHERE,- everywhere, Like the butterfly's silver wings, And the low, sweet lisp of the baby child And the voice of the young heart's laughter, wild The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot And the brightest gift in the loftiest lot, Is a gift that is given to all; For the sunny light of childhood's eyes Is a boon like the common air, And, like the sunshine of the skies, They tell us this old earth no more By angel feet is trod, They bring not now, as they brought of yore, The oracles of God. O, each of these young human flowers By stifling street and breezy hill That such bright shapes should linger till O, play not those a blessed part MY BIRD. ERE last year's moon had left the sky, Her tiny wings upon my breast. From morn till evening's purple tinge, In winsome helplessness she lies; Two rose-leaves with a silken fringe, Shut softly on her starry eyes. There's not in Ind a lovelier bird, Broad earth owns not a happier nest; O God, thou hast a fountain stirred, Whose waters never more may rest! This beautiful, mysterious thing, This seeming visitant from Heaven, This bird with the immortal wing, To me, to me thy hand hath given. |