A peaceful death be given.

Then mayest Thou us bring,

Our Father and our King,

Unto Thy holy heaven.

Now, brethren, seek your rest

By God's protection blest.

The night grows chill and dreary :

From ill may God us keep,

To us give quiet sleep,

And to the sick and weary.

THE LOST STAR.

THERE stood a star in the heavens, A star of brightness rare,

So lovely was its radiance,

So tender and so fair.

'Midst all the stars of heaven

Full well I knew its place,

I sought it in the evening

Till I its light could trace.

And long I stood there gazing With ever-fresh delight,

To watch that star arising,

And thank God every night.

The star it shines no longer,

I seek it o'er and o'er,

Where I was wont to find it,

And find it now no more.

THE SPRING.

ON THE FIRST MAY MORNING.

TO-DAY will I rejoice, rejoice, rejoice,

List to nought that form and custom say; Gaily dance and raise in song my voice, And no king on earth shall bid me stay.

For with all his joys, o'er hills and vales, Forth he cometh from the realms of morn; On his shoulders sit the nightingales,

Flowers his breast and golden locks adorn.

Dews and blessings sheds he on his way,
In his face the rose and lily meet;
Ha! my Thyrsus is a budding spray,
And I hasten forth my friend to greet.

LUDWIG H. C. HÖLTY.

[1748-1776.]

SONG.

WHO would his life with troubles weary,

While youth and spring-time brightly bloom?

Or who, while in his days of gladness,

Would cloud his brow with shades of gloom?

Joy beckons us on ev'ry pathway,

Crossing this pilgrim life of ours;

And when we're at the crossway standing,

She offers us the wreath of flowers.

B

Still through the meadows flows the brooklet,

Still is the arbour cool and green,

And still the moon shines forth as brightly

As erst through Eden's trees 'twas seen.

Still heals the grape, with juice of purple,

The human heart of ev'ry care;

And sweet is, in the evening twilight,

The kiss upon lips rosy-fair.

The nightingale stills wakes at even

Enchantment in the youthful breast,

And still her song with balmy sweetness
Unto the stricken soul gives rest.

Oh! wondrous fair is God's creation,

And full of gladness unto me!

Then till I sink to dust and ashes,

Will I rejoice, fair earth, in thee.