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The dead of night: carth seems but seeming-
The soul seems but a something dreaming.
The bird is dreaming in its nest,
Of song, and sky, and loved one's breast;
The lap-dog dreams, as round he lies,
In moonshine of his mistress' eyes:
The steed is dreaming, in his stall,
Of one long breathless leap and fall:
The hawk hath dreamt him thrice of wings
Wide as the skies he may not cleave;
But waking, feels them clipt, and clings
Mad to the perch 'twere mad to leave:

THE HYMN OF THE ANGELS.

The child is dreaming of its toys---
The murderer of calm home joys;
The weak are dreaming endless fears--
The proud of how their pride appears:
The poor enthusiast who dies,
Of his life-dreams the sacrifice,
Sees, as enthusiast only can,
The truth that made him more than man;
And hears once more, in visioned trance,
That voice commanding to advance,
Where wealth is gained—love, wisdom won,
Or deeds of danger dared and done.
The mother dreameth of her child
The maid of him who hath beguiled-
The youth of her he loves too well;
The good of God—the ill of hell,-
Who live of death of life who die--
The dead of immortality.
The earth is dreaming back her youth;
Hell never dreams, for woe is truth;
And heaven is dreaming o'er her prime,
Long e'er the morning stars of time;
And dream of Heaven alone can I,
My lovely one, when thou art nigh.

THE HYMN OF THE ANGELS.

THEY come from the ends of the earth,

White with its agèd snows;
From the bounding breast of the tropic tide,

Where the day-beam ever glows;
From the east where first they dwelt,

From the north, and the south, and the west, Where the sun puts on his robe of light, And lays down his crown to rest.

PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

Out of every land they come;

Where the palm triumphant grows, Where the vine o'ershadows the roofs and the hills,

And the gold-orbed orange glows;
Where the olive and fig-tree thrive,

And the rich pomegranates red,
Where the citron blooms, and the apple of ill

Bows down its fragrant head.

From the lands where the gems are born;

Opal and emerald bright;
From shores where the ruddy corals grow,

And pearls with their mellow light;
Where silver and gold are dug,

And the diamond rivers roll,
And the marble white as the still moonlight

Is quarried, and jetty coal;—

They come with a gladdening shout;

They come—with a tear of joy;
Father and daughter, youth and maid,

Mother and blooming boy.
A thousand dwellings they leave,

Dwellings-but not a home;
To them there is none but the sacred soil,

And the land whereto they come.

And the temple again shall be built,
And filled as it was of

yore; And the burden be lift from the heart of the world,

And the nations all adore; Prayers to the throne of Heaven

Morning and eve shall rise, And unto and not of the Lamb

Shall be the sacrifice.

MOURN NOT FOR ME.

PROMISE, dearest, when I die,
Not to mourn, nor weep, nor sigh;
Eyes like thine should never weep,
Nor sweet bosom sorrow keep.
Let not stone nor verse, nor aught
Mark where rests—what loved and thought.
If they ask thee where I lie,
Say, within thy memory.
Weep not thou o'er grave of mine,
Sprinkle on it sparkling wine;
That shall keep the grass all new,
Like to an immortal dew;
And some fallen star shall stay
Watching, while thou art away.
Scatter rose and ivy wreath
On the turf I rest beneath;
Dance and sing my favourite song
Through the deep blue twilight long,
In that rich and ringing tone,
Heaven to thee, love, lends alone.
When I'm gone, then, come again;
Talk to me in lightsome strain;
Should I answer, start not thou!
I'll but say I'm blest as now;
Should no sound the silence break,
Think me, oh! too blest to speak.
Let me lie till angels say,
Wake! the world's long week is past.
Spirit! this is holiday;
This is God's—the best and last.

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THE intolerant sun sinks down with glaring eye

Behind the horizontal desert line,
And upwards casts his robes to float on high,

Suffusing all the clouds with his decline;

Till their intense gold doth incarnadine,
And melt in angry hues, which darken as they die.

Slow rose the naked beauty of the moon

In broad relief against the gloomy vault: Each smouldering field in azure melted soon,

Before the tenderness of that assault;

And the pure Image that men's souls exalt, Stood high aloof from earth, as in some visioned swoon.

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