THE WOODLAND RETREAT.

BY MISS S. C. EDGARTON.

COME, gentle love, to the shady wood,
While the noon hours pass away;
Our spirits will here be bright and good
Through the glare of the summer day.
We will hunt the mosses and sedgy knolls,
For the tiniest buds and flowers,

And sweetly and purely we'll blend our souls
Through the languor of dreamy hours.

The bee is here with his mellow hum,
A wild and a drowsy sound;

He has muffled his head in a foxglove thumb,
And weighed himself to the ground.

And all about in the swinging bells
The murmurs are lurking low,
Like the solemn softness of fairy knells,
A blending of joy and woe.

The birds are flitting from tree to tree,
The sunbeams from flower to flower:
O where can the spirit of sorrow be

In so tranquil and sweet an hour?
No shadows are here but the softened fall
Of the sunshine through the leaves:

"Tis a holy haunt, so quiet all,

To a bosom that inly grieves.

The music that hovers unseen above
In the boughs of the waving trees,
Like the gentle voice of a friend we love,
Subdues us by calm degrees.

The presence of love is with us here
In the music and softened light;

In all that is bright, and sweet, and clear,
Lies the spell of its glorious might.

In the voice of the wild-bird that wanders by,
There's a message from God to all;
For he talks to his children beneath the sky
Through oracles weak and small.

And the daisy, that lifteth its gentle head

From the grassy bed of its birth,

Wears the same sweet smile that our God hath spread
Abroad o'er the glorious earth.

Then come, my love, to the shady wood;
It is good to worship apart

From the crowded world, and in solemn mood

Commune with an humbled heart.

The spirit is purer and better far,

For its moments of silent prayer;

Its light grows clearer, like some dim star
When seen through the midnight air.