FOREST MUSINGS.

THE green leaves waving in the morning galeThe little birds that 'mid their freshness sing— The wild-wood flowers so tender-eyed and paleThe wood-mouse sitting by the forest springThe morning dew-the wild bees' woodland hum, All woo my feet to Nature's forest home.

'Tis beautiful, from some tall craggy peak To watch the setting of the blessed sun— To mark his light grow weaker, and more weak, Till earth and sky be hid in twilight dun; 'Tis beautiful to watch the earliest ray, That sparkling comes across the ocean gray.

But, oh! more beautiful-more passing sweet
It is, to wander in an hour like this-
Where twisted branches overhead do meet,

And gentle airs the bursting buds do kissWhere forest paths, and glades, and thickets green, Make up, of flowers and leaves, a world serene.

To the pure heart, 'tis happiness to mark

The tree-tops waving in the warm sunshine,
To hear thy song, thou cloud-embosom'd lark!
Like that of some fair spirit all divine—

To lie upon the forest's velvet grass,
And watch the timid deer in distance pass.

Oh! gloriously beautiful is earth!

The desert wild, the mountain old and hoar,
The craggy steep, upthrown at Nature's birth,

The sweeping ocean-wave, the pebbled shore,
Have much of beauty all; but none to me
Is like the spot where stands the forest-tree.

There I can muse, away from living men,

Reclining peacefully on Nature's breast,
The woodbird sending up its God-ward strain,
Nursing the spirit into holy rest!

Alone with God, within His forest fane,
The soul can feel, that all save Him is vain.

Here it can learn—will learn—to love all things
That He hath made-to pity and forgive
All faults, all failings: here the heart's deep springs
Are open'd up, and all on earth who live
To me grow nearer, dearer than before—
My brother loving, I my God adore.

A deep mysterious sympathy doth bind

The human heart to nature's beauties all; We know not, guess not, of its force or kind; But that it is we know. When ill doth fall Upon us-when our hearts are sear'd and rivenWe'll seek the forest land for peace and heaven.

ROBERT NICOLL, 1814-1837.

THE PERFECT SACRIFICE.

I PLACE an offering at Thy shrine,
From taint and blemish clear,
Simple and pure in its design,
Of all that I hold dear.

I yield Thee back Thy gifts again,
Thy gifts which most I prize;
Desirous only to retain

The notice of Thine eyes.

But if, by Thine adored decree,
That blessing be denied ;
Resign'd and unreluctant, see
My every wish subside.

Thy will in all things I approve,
Exalted or cast down;

Thy will in every state I love,

And even in Thy frown.

WILLIAM COWPER, 1731-1800.

-Madame Guion.

THE WORLD versus NATURE.

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything we are out of tune;
It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be
pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

A

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ;
Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850.

ETERNAL PROVIDENCE.

LIFE of the world! Immortal Mind!

Father of all the human kind!

Whose boundless eye, that knows no rest,

Intent on nature's ample breast,

Explores the space of earth and skies,
And sees eternal incense rise!

To Thee my humble voice I raise ;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

Though Thou this transient being gave,
That shortly sinks into the grave,
Yet 'twas Thy goodness still to give
A being that can think and live

e;

In all Thy works Thy wisdom see,
And stretch its towering mind to Thee—
To Thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

And still this poor contracted span,
This life, that bears the name of man,
From Thee derives its vital ray,
Eternal Source of light and day!
Thy bounty still the sunshine pours,
That gilds at morn and evening hours.
To Thee my humble voice I raise;
Forgive, while I presume to praise.

Through error's maze, through folly's night,
The lamp of reason lends me light;
Where stern affliction waves her rod,
My heart confides in Thee, my God!
When nature shrinks, oppress'd with woes,
E'en then she finds in Thee repose.

To Thee

my

humble voice I raise;

Forgive, while I presume to praise.