The Cranebill.

(GERANIUM ROBERTIANUM, HERB ROBERT.)

BORN beneath the March winds keen
And nursed amid the April showers,
Then coming forth in ruby sheen
To greet the long and sunny hours,—
Dear type of souls whose spring of youth
Had many a shadow o'er it thrown,

Who wake in time to life's glad truth
And find the summer all their own!

The wondrous tracery of thy leaves
O'er moss of way-side wall is spread :
On ruined towers, 'neath cottage eaves,
In homely green and royal red
They greet us, with a motley gay

And with a faint and languid scent,

To bid us linger by the way,

But odours rare for strengthening lent.

Thy flowers on crimsoned branching stems
The fairy goblets graceful shine,
Fair-frecked with pale and ruby gems
And, deep within, the golden wine;

And with the flower the seed-fruit too

In its quaint bill-sheath ripens fair: Together all the summer through,

Bud, bloom, and seed greet sun and air.

A hidden life thou seem'st to live,

With nurture less from earth than heaven; For chiefly there we see thee thrive Where poorest, thirstiest soil is given. Scant food thou bringest from afar, With patient reachings wide and deep; But dews, beneath the morning star,

Thy head in kindliest balms must steep.

What wonder, that some votary stern
Of good St. Robert's holy rule
On thee his earnest glance should turn,
When issuing from the cloistered school,
And thank thee for thy loveliness

By giving thee that honoured name,—
Yearning to consecrate and bless

All earthly sweets with heavenly claim.

Oh, dearest of all way-side flowers,

So brave and tender, fair and true,

I bid thee welcome to our bowers,

And love thee all the summer through :

Dear type of souls whose spring of youth
Had many a shadow o'er it thrown,
Who wake in time to life's glad truth
And find the summer all their own!

M. G. T.

The Song of the Caldenses.

"Blessed are all they that wait for HIM."

W

ATCHMAN, what of the night?

We have waited long for the day : From time to time came flashes of light,

But they died in the dark away.

"Some breathings of life have stirred,
But in blood they soon were crush'd;
And we caught the song of an early bird,
But its voice was quickly hush'd.

"Joy to the patient and brave!

The dawn is breaking now:

It crisps the crests of the purple wave,
It crimsons the mountain's brow;

"It gilds the towers with its rays,
It cheereth the narrow street;

It waketh a tumult of work and praise,
And a stir of busy feet.

"Joy, joy! it cometh up

Wider and brighter and higher;

It poureth life in the meek flower's cup, It tippeth the peaks with fire.

"We have watched in the darkness long, But the day is come at last :

The world o'erfloweth with light and song,

The night and the cold are past.

"The light, the light is come!

Light on the chain of the slave;

The light of God on the labourer's home, Light on the martyr's grave!"

SAY not thou art left of God

Because His tokens in the sky

Thou canst not read! this earth He trod

To teach thee He was ever nigh.

He sees, beneath the fig-tree green,
Nathaniel con His sacred lore;
Shouldst thou the closet seek, unseen

He enters through the unopened door.

And when thou liest, by slumber bound,
Outwearied in the Christian fight,

In glory girt, with saints around,

He stands above thee through the night.