LOVE.

To say he loved,

Were to affirm, what oft his eyes avouch'd,
What many actions testified, and yet―
What wanted confirmation from his tongue.
But, if he loved, it brought him not content!
"Twas now abstraction-now a start-anon
A pacing to and fro-anon a stillness,
As nought remained of life save life itself,
And feeling, thought, and motion were extinct !
Then all again was action!

I saw a struggle,

But knew not what it was; I wondered still
That, what to me was all content, to him
Was all disturbance; but my turn did come.
At length he talked of leaving us; at length
He fixed the parting day-but kept it not-
Oh! how my heart did bound! Then first I knew
I had been sinking. Deeper still it sank,

When next he fixed to go; and sank it then

To bound no more!

He went.

J. SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

THE PASSION FLOWER.

ILD superstition named the flower

In memory of that awful hour,

When He whom heaven and earth adore

The death of shame and sorrow bore.

They called the purple circlet there
The crown of thorns 'twas His to wear;
And every leaf seemed to their eye
Memorial of His agony.

"Tis fancy all-yet do not scorn

The thought of adoration born!

But let each flower that meets our sight
Recall the Lord of life and light:

There's not one flower that decks the vale,
And with its fragrance scents the gale,
That does not bid our hearts arise

To Him who dwells beyond the skies.