THE FAMILY THANKSGIVING

PSALM.

HOU, who sendest sun and rain,
Thou, who spendest bliss and pain,
Good with bounteous hand bestowing,

Evil for Thy will allowing, -
Though Thy ways we cannot see,
All is just that comes from Thee.

In the peace of hearts at rest,
In the child at mother's breast,
In the lives that now surround us,
In the deaths that sorely wound us,
Though we may not understand,
Father, we behold Thy hand!

Hear the happy hymn we raise;
Take the love which is Thy praise;
Give content in each condition;
Bend our hearts in sweet submission,
And Thy trusting children prove
Worthy of the Father's love!

Bayard Taylor.

NOT OURS THE VOWS.

OT ours the vows of such as plight
Their troth in sunny weather,

While leaves are green, and skies are
bright,

To walk on flowers together.

But we have loved as those who tread
The thorny path of sorrow,

With clouds above, and cause to dread
Yet deeper gloom to-morrow.

That thorny path, those stormy skies,
Have drawn our spirits nearer,
And rendered us, by Sorrow's ties,
Each to the other dearer.

Love, born in hours of joy and mirth,
With mirth and joy may perish ;
That to which darker hours gave birth,
Still more and more we cherish.

It looks beyond the clouds of time,
And through Death's shadowy portal;

Made by Adversity sublime,

By Faith and Hope immortal.

Bernard Barton.

Shall the storm settle here, when from heaven it departs,

And the cold from without finds its way to our

hearts?

No, Patrick, no! sure the wintriest weather, Is easily borne when we bear it together.

Though the rain's dropping through, from the roof to the floor,

And the wind whistles free where there once was a door,

Can the rain, or the snow, or the storm wash

away

All the warm vows we made in our love's

early day?

No, Patrick, no! sure the dark stormy weather Is easily borne, if we bear it together.

ΙΙΟ SONG OF THE PEASANT WIFE.

When

you
stole out to woo me when labor was
done,

And the day that was closing, to us seemed

begun,

Did we care if the sunset was bright on the flowers,

Or if we crept out amid the darkness and showers?

No, Patrick! we talked, while we braved the wild weather,

Of all we could bear, if we bore it together.

Soon, soon will these dark, dreary days be gone by,

And our hearts be lit up with a beam from the sky!

O, let not our spirits, imbittered with pain,
Be dead to the sunshine that came to us then!
Heart in heart, hand in hand, let us welcome
the weather,

And sunshine or storm, we will bear it together.

Hon. Mrs. Norton.

TO MY BELOVED ONE.

EAVEN hath its crown of stars, the earth

Her glory robe of flowers, The sea its gems, the grand old woods Their songs and greening showers;

The birds have homes, where leaves and blooms

In beauty wreath above;

High yearning hearts, their rainbow dreamAnd we, sweet! we have love.

We walk not with the jewelled great,
Where Love's dear name is sold;
Yet we have wealth we would not give
For all their world of gold!

We revel not in corn and wine,
Yet we have from above
Manna divine, and we'll not pine,
While we may live and love.

There's sorrow for the toiling poor,
On Misery's bosom nursed;

Rich robes for ragged souls, and crowns
For branded brows Cain-cursed!