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SCYTHE BEARERS.

Sturdy mowers, in the morning early,

Sharpen cheeping scythes, all wet with dew, As athwart the east the sky grows pearly

Ere the shadows stretch themselves anew. When the sun is high, in mid-day splendour,

Frugally they feast in grateful shade, Under spreading tents of June leaves tender,

Where with new cut grass a couch is made. Long the daylight lasts—the broad backs bending

Still reap heavy harvest from the field;
Scatter'd groups of children home are tending,

Little eyes with weariness soon sealed.
Oh! sweet scented days of blythe haymaking!

Frolic-laughter merry peals doth ring;
Men and boys and girls, their rough hair shaking,

Smothering heaps upon each other fling. When the deepening twilight gloom is falling,

And the shorn mead dark and darker grows, Echo mocks the distant voices calling,

All unwilling for the night's repose. Such the strength that won old England's glory,

Such the strong hearts of our loving pride; Great in modern as in ancient story,

Sweeping down the swath of battle's tide.

QUESTANT.

“Thé peaches on the garden wall

Were lately hard and green;
Whence come those hues of crimson bloom,

In their ripe beauty seen ?”

So tints the son each fruit and Rover

With his ail-powertal rsrs;
They bask in his bright fostering serie,

And turn to meet his gsze.
Yes, little curious questioner,

Whose eyes of azure beam
Like mirror'd harebells in the depth

Of some pure glassy stream ;-
Look up on high! far, far above,

Beyond our earthly reach;
That glorious planet's golden warmth

Gives colour to the peach.”

“But whence the perfume of the flowers ?

The juice of luscious pines ? Doth, then, the cause of these dwell higher,

Beyond where yon sun shines ?" Another voice came whispering low,

“How like this child are we! Wondering, with upward looks of love,

Beside a parent's knee.”

HESPERUS.

In the old sequestered orchard;

When the glowing sun goes down,
Quieting the tidal turmoil

Of the busy town.

Where the ruddy fruit o’erhanging,

Arches down the yielding trees ;
And the rustling leaves their vespers

Whisper to the breeze.

Where kind nature's blazoned missal

Opens lovingly, to teach Bounty, in the rich profusion

Of the plum and peach.

Sweet pomaceous perfumed juices

On moss-cumbered fronds abound; Lusciously the melting clusters

Bend towards the ground.

Plenty, her ambrosial incense,

Offers to refreshing night; Gold and ruby censers swinging

In the sleepy light.

Lingering rays still lean and shimmer

On the green fig-dotted walls ; And a grateful hushing stillness

O’er the spirit falls.

Hark ! a deep-toned organ's fullness

Children's voices sweet and clear ! 'Tis the holy hymn of evening

In the chapel near.

White robed thoughts of heavenly glory,

As we listen, fill the breast; Cloud-lit, radiant vistas opening,

Pathways of the blest.

Shines a welling cup of

mercy, Borne by bright-winged seraphim, Hither wafted on the echoings

Of that evening hymn.

DROUGHT AND RAIN.

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The time of drought has lasted long :

No pasture on the plain:
Plants, shrubs, and trees all drooping bow

Their heads in need of rain.

The fruit hangs rotting on the branch;

The sun strikes on the brain Of

workers, in the heated air Unfreshened by the rain.

The lowing herds, the bleating sheep

In altered tones complain;
Dry throats grow voiceless in the want

Of hoped for, longed for, rain.

A little while and then no more

May these their life sustain ;
All weak with heat, and faint with thirst,

They die for want of rain.

A cry goes up from human souls:

O God! to hear us deign,
Cast not thine anger on us thus ;

In mercy grant us rain.

Dark drifting clouds,—the baffling wind

Drives to and fro the vane;-
Now! sweetly comes the welcome sound,

The pattering on the pane.

Earth revels in the rushing flood,

The downpour on the plain That, scorched and cracked and parched and burnt,

Now drinks the plashing rain.

Rationalistic foes, forbear!

Our creed we will maintain ;
God hears the prayers of earnest hearts.
God's
mercy

sends this rain.

A SKETCH FROM NATURE.

I hear a sure token,
A herald has spoken,
The sweet spell is broken

Of summer's warm days!
No more lovers toying,
Their fond hopes enjoying,
Till kisses grow cloying

Beneath the moon's rays.

Harsh breezes are sighing,
Earth's blossoms are dying,
Pale rose-leaves are lying

Upon the damp lawn ;
Bright hours are fleeting,
Mists come with chill greeting,
And cold is the meeting

Of evening or morn.

Gay summer is going-
The sweet meadow mowing,
The reaping and sowing,

Are over and past;
The robin is singing,
The summer's knell ringing,
While Autumn is bringing

His yellow leaves fast.

As twilight falls lightly,

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