The voice of sighs and weeping,
The bier where lies the dead ;-
These speak to us of Jesus,

Of words that He has said.

The little sparrows feeding,

The wind that strews the grain, The shepherd gently leading

His lambs along the lane;

The patient ass at labour,
The cattle in the stall,

The cock at morning crowing,

The dove's voice at nightfall;

The gleaming of the fire.

Whose warmth is round us spread,

The broiled fish and the honey,

The little loaves of bread;

The boats upon the water,

The fishers on the shore ;These things remind us of Him : These, and a thousand more.

And pain and weakness make Him
Nearer and dearer seem,

Till life becomes a story

Of which He is the theme.

When nurses gently tend us,

When friends hold out their hands,
When kind physicians cheer us,

Or priest with chalice stands ;

In each we may discover

The likeness of our Lord,

Who soothes our bed of sickness,
According to His word.

O then, in joy or sorrow,
Whatever may befall,

Let us our Lord remember,

And see His love in all.

From Poems on "The Name of Jesus."

All Nature Beautiful.

ATURE in every form is lovely still:
I can admire to ecstacy, although

I be not bower'd in a rustling grove
Tracing through flowery tufts some twinkling rill,
Or perch'd upon a green and sunny hill
Gazing upon the sylvanry below,

And hark'ning to the warbling beaks above. To me the wilderness of thorns and brambles, Beneath whose weeds the muddy runnel scrambles,

The bald, burnt moor, the marsh's sedgy shallows,
Where docks, bulrushes, waterflags, and mallows
Choke the rank waste,-alike can yield delight.
A blade of silver hair-grass, nodding slowly

In the soft wind; the thistle's purple crown,
The ferns, the rushes tall, and mosses lowly,
A thorn, a weed, an insect, or a stone
Can thrill me with sensations exquisite ;
For all are exquisite, and every part
Points to the Mighty Hand that fashion'd it.
Then, as I look aloft with yearning heart,
The trees and mountains, like conductors, raise
My spirit upward on its flight sublime;
And clouds, and suns, and heaven's cerulean floor,
Are but the stepping-stones by which I climb
Up to the dread Invisible, to pour
Adoring gratitude in silent praise.

Scatter ye Seeds.

CATTER ye seeds, and flowers will spring;
Strew them at broadcast o'er hill and glen;

Sow in your gardens, and time will bring
Bright flowers, with seeds to scatter again.

Scatter ye seeds: nor think them lost,

Though they fall among leaves, and are buried in earth; Spring will wake them, though heedlessly tossed,

And to beautiful flowers those seeds will give birth.

Scatter ye seeds! Tire not, but toil;

'Tis the work of life, 'tis the labour of man : In the head, in the heart, and on earth's own soil, Sow, gather and sow through life's short span.

Scatter ye seeds in the field of mind,

Seeds of flowers with seeds of grain;

In spring and in summer sweet garlands ye'll find, And in autumn ye'll reap rich fruit for your pain.

Scatter ye seeds in the garden of hearts,

Seeds of affection, of truth, and of love; Cultivate carefully each hidden part,

And thy flowers will be seen by angels above.

Then scatter ye seeds each passing year;
Sow amid winds and storms and rain;
Hope give thee courage, faith cast out fear,
God will requite thee with infinite gain.

The Primrose of the Rock.

ROCK there is whose lonely point

The passing traveller slights;

Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps,

Like stars at various heights;

And one coy Primrose to that Rock

The vernal breeze invites.

What hideous warfare has been waged,

What kingdoms overthrown,
Since first I spied that primrose tuft
And marked it for my own;
A lasting link in nature's chain.
From highest heaven let down!

The flowers, still faithful to the stems,
Their fellowship renew;

The stems are faithful to the root,
That worketh out of view;

And to the rock the root adheres

Close clings to earth the living rock,
Though threatening still to fall;
The earth is constant to her sphere,
And God upholds them all:

So blooms this lonely plant, nor dreads

Her annual funeral.

Here closed the meditative strain;
But air breathed soft that day,

The hoary mountain-heights were cheered, sunny vale looked gay;

The

And to the Primrose of the Rock

I gave this after-lay.