On all that humble happiness,
The world has since forgone,—
The daylight of contentedness
That on those faces shone !

With rights, tho' not too closely scanned,
Enjoyed, as far as known,-
With will by no reverse unmanned,-

With pulse of even tone,—
They from to-day and from to-night

Expected nothing more,

Than yesterday and yesternight
Had proffered them before.

To them was life a simple art
Of duties to be done,

A game where each man took his part,
A race where all must run;

A battle whose great scheme and scope
They little cared to know,

Content, as men at arms, to cope
Each with his fronting foe.

Man now his Virtue's diadem
Puts on, and proudly wears,

Great thoughts, great feelings, came to them,
Like instincts, unawares :

Blending their souls' sublimest needs

With tasks of every day,

They went about their gravest deeds,
As noble boys at play.—

And what if nature's fearful wound
They did not probe and bare,
For that their spirits never swooned
To watch the misery there,—

For that their love but flowed more fast,
Their charities more free,

Not conscious what mere drops they cast Into the evil sea.

A man's best things are nearest him,

Lie close about his feet,

It is the distant and the dim

That we are sick to greet :

For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire,—

Our hearts must die, except they breathe The air of fresh desire.

But, Brothers, who up reason's hill
Advance with hopeful cheer,-
O! loiter not, those heights are chill,
As chill as they are clear;

And still restrain your haughty gaze,

The loftier that ye go,

Remembering distance leaves a haze
On all that lies below.

Good Night and Good Morning

A FAIR little girl sat under a tree,

Sewing as long as her eyes could see: Then smoothed her work, and folded it right, And said, 'Dear work, Good-night! Good-night!'

Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying 'Caw! caw!' on their way to bed:
She said as she watched their curious flight,
'Little black things! Good-night! Good-night!'

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
The sheep's 'Bleat! bleat!' came over the road :
All seeming to say with a quiet delight,
'Good little girl! Good-night! Good-night!'

She did not say to the sun 'Good-night!'
Though she saw him there like a ball of light;
For she knew he had God's time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.

The tall pink fox-glove bowed his head-
The violet curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said on her knees, her favourite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay

She knew nothing more till again it was day:
And all things said to the beautiful sun,

Good-morning! Good-morning! our work is begun!

Happiness

BECAUSE the Few with signal virtue crowned,

The heights and pinnacles of human mind,
Sadder and wearier than the rest are found,
Wish not thy Soul less wise or less refined.
True that the small delights which every day
Cheer and distract the pilgrim are not theirs ;
True that, though free from Passion's lawless sway,
A loftier being brings severer cares.

Yet have they special pleasures, even mirth,
By those undreamt of who have only trod
Life's valley smooth; and if the rolling earth
To their nice ear have many a painful tone,
They know, Man does not live by Joy alone,
But by the presence of the power of God.

Springlets

THOMAS WESTWOOD

VER the winter eaves

OVE

The bare boughs clamber and swing-

Through a rustle of withered leaves

I hear the voice of Spring.

Year after year departs
On pitiless, whirling wing,
But yet in my heart of hearts,
I feel the touch of the Spring.

Who knows? when in graveyard drear,
I lie, and the throstles sing,

I may still awake with the year,
Still hear the voice of the Spring.

KINGSLEY

Dartside

I

CANNOT tell what you say, green leaves,

I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, rosy rocks,
I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, brown streams,
I cannot tell what you say:

But I know that in you too a spirit doth live,
And a word doth speak this day.