Past dreams of childhood float upon the air;

Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn
That echoed through the old cathedral dim,
When as a little child each day she went
To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent.

THE ANGEL OF DEATH.

HY shouldst thou fear the beautiful

angel, Death,

Who waits thee at the portals of the

skies,

Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,

Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?

How many a tranquil soul has passed away,
Fled gladly from fierce pain and pleasures dim,

To the eternal splendour of the day;

And

many a troubled heart still calls for him.

Spirits too tender for the battle here

Have turned from life, its hopes, its fears, its

charms;

And children, shuddering at a world so drear,
Have smiling passed away into his arms.

He whom thou fearest will, to ease its pain,
Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart:
Will soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain,
And bid the shadow of earth's grief depart.

He will give back what neither time, nor might, Nor passionate prayer, nor longing hope restore, (Dear as to long blind eyes recovered sight,)

He will give back those who are gone before.

Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,

And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.

A DREAM.

LL yesterday I was spinning,
Sitting alone in the sun;

And the dream that I spun was so

lengthy,

It lasted till day was done.

I heeded not cloud or shadow

That flitted over the hill,

Or the humming-bees, or the swallows,

Or the trickling of the rill.

I took the threads for my spinning,

All of blue summer air,

And a flickering ray of sunlight

Was woven in here and there.

The shadows grew longer and longer,
The evening wind passed by,

And the purple splendour of sunset
Was flooding the western sky.

But I could not leave my spinning,
For so fair my dream had grown,
I heeded not, hour by hour,

How the silent day had flown.

At last the grey shadows fell round me,
And the night came dark and chill,
And I rose and ran down the valley,
And left it all on the hill.

I went up the hill this morning

To the place where my spinning lay, There was nothing but glistening dewdrops Remained of my dream to-day.

H

THE PRESENT.

O not crouch to-day, and worship
The old Past, whose life is fled.
Hush your voice to tender reverence;
Crowned he lies, but cold and dead:
For the Present reigns our monarch,
With an added weight of hours;

Honour her, for she is mighty!
Honour her, for she is ours!

See the shadows of his heroes
Girt around her cloudy throne;
Every day the ranks are strengthened
By great hearts to him unknown;
Noble things the great Past promised,
Holy dreams, both strange and new;
But the Present shall fulfil them,

What he promised, she shall do.