My life is like the autumn leaf

That trembles in the moon's pale ray: Its hold is frail - its date is brief,

Restless and soon to pass away!
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade,
The parent tree will mourn its shade,
The winds bewail the leafless tree
But none shall breathe a sigh for me!

My life is like the prints, which feet
Have left on Tampa's desert strand;
Soon as the rising tide shall beat,

All trace will vanish from the sand;
Yet, as if grieving to efface
All vestige of the human race,

On that lone shore loud moans the sea-
But none, alas! shall mourn for me!

Why murmur at the common lot?
We part! I speak not of the pain,-
But when shall I each lovely spot
And each loved face behold again?

It must be months, it may be years,
It may but no! I will not fill
Fond hearts with gloom, fond eyes with

tears,

--

"Curious to shape uncertain ill.”

Though humble, - few and far, — yet,

still

Those hearts and eyes are ever dear;

Theirs is the love no time can chill, The truth no chance or change can sear!

All I have seen, and all I see,

Only endears them more and more; Friends cool, hopes fade, and hours flee, Affection lives when all is o'er! Farewell, my more than native shore! I do not seek or hope to find,

Roam where I will, what I deplore To leave with them and thee behind!

TO THE MOCKING-BIRD WINGED mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!

Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit, sophist, songster, Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school,
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch-mocker and mad Abbot of Misrule!

For such thou art by day - but all night long

Thou pourest a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,

As if thou didst in this thy moonlight song Like to the melancholy Jacques complain, Musing on falsehood, folly, vice, and wrong, And sighing for thy motley coat again.

I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore;
And all my cares and sorrows cast
On Him whom I adore.

I love, by faith, to take a view

Of brighter scenes in heaven;
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.

PHOEBE HINSDALE BROWN

HYMN FOR THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH

WHERE ancient forests round us spread, Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall, On the lone mountain's silent head,

There are thy temples, God of all!

Beneath the dark-blue, midnight arch, Whence myriad suns pour down their rays,

Where planets trace their ceaseless march, Father! we worship as we gaze.

The tombs thine altars are; for there, When earthly loves and hopes have fled,

To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,

Thou God of the immortal dead.

All space is holy; for all space

Is filled by thee; but human thought Burns clearer in some chosen place, Where thy own words of love are taught.

Here be they taught; and may we know That faith thy servants knew of old; Which onward bears through weal and

woe,

Till Death the gates of heaven unfold!

Nor we alone; may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where we do now,
And raise to thee still holier prayers!
ANDREWS NORTON

ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP

ROCKED in the cradle of the deep
I lay me down in peace to sleep;
Secure I rest upon the wave,

For thou, O Lord! hast power to save.
I know thou wilt not slight my call,
For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall;
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

When in the dead of night I lie
And gaze upon the trackless sky,
The star-bespangled heavenly scroll,
The boundless waters as they roll,-
I feel thy wondrous power to save
From perils of the stormy wave:
Rocked in the cradle of the deep,
I calmly rest and soundly sleep.

And such the trust that still were mine,
Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine,
Or though the tempest's fiery breath
Roused me from sleep to wreck and death.
In ocean cave, still safe with Thee
The germ of immortality!
And calm and peaceful shall I sleep,
Rocked in the cradle of the deep.

EMMA HART WILLARD