FLOWER-TEACHINGS. DAY stars! that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle Ye matin worshippers! who bending lowly Ye bright mosaics! that with storied beauty 'Neath cloister'd boughs, each floral bell that swingeth, And tolls its perfume on the passing air, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth A call to prayer. Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, But to that fane, most catholic and solemn, To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder, There, as in solitude and shade I wander, Through the green aisles, or stretch'd upon the sod, Awed by the silence, reverently ponder The ways of God. Your voiceless lips, O flowers! are living preachers, Floral apostles! that, in dewy splendour, "Weep without woe, and blush without a crime," Oh! may I deeply learn and ne'er surrender Your lore sublime ! "Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy glory, In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly Artist! With which Thou paintest Nature's wide-spread hall, What a delightful lesson Thou impartest Of love to all. Not useless are ye, flowers, though made for pleasure, Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night, From every source your sanction bids me treasure, Harmless delight. Ephemeral sages! what instructions hoary For such a world of thought could furnish scope Each fading calyx a "memento mori," Yet font of hope. Posthumous glories! angel-like collection! A second birth. Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining, HORACE SMITH, 1779-1849. THE DIVINE PROVIDENCE. As some fond mother views her infant race, With tender love o'erflowing while she sees; She kisses one, one clasps in her embrace, Her feet supporting one, and one her knees; Then, as the winning gesture, speaking face, Or plaintive cry explain their different pleas, A look, a word she deals with various grace, And smiles or frowns, as Love alone decrees. O'er man, frail kind, so Providence Divine Still watches; hears, sustains, and succours all, With equal eye upholding each that lives. If Heaven denies, oh! let not man repine! Heaven but denies to quicken duty's call, Or feigning to deny, more largely gives. POETICAL REGISTER. -Italian of Filicaja. THE TEMPLE OF NATURE. TALK not of temples-there is one Built without hands, to mankind given; And all the stars of heaven; Its walls are the cerulean sky, Its floor the earth so green and fair; All nature worships there! The Alps array'd in stainless snow, At sunrise and at sunset glow Like altar-fires to God. A thousand fierce volcanoes blaze, As if with hallow'd victims rare ; And thunder lifts its voice in praiseAll nature worships there! The ocean heaves resistlessly, And pours his glittering treasure forth; His waves the priesthood of the sea— Kneel on the shell-gemm'd earth, And there emit a hollow sound, As if they murmur'd praise and prayer ; On every side 'tis holy groundAll nature worships there! The grateful earth her odours yield The balmy dew at morn and even The cedar and the mountain pine, The tulip and the eglantine, In reverence bend to Him; The song-birds pour their sweetest lays, The rushing river murmurs praise- |