"SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT."

HE was a phantom of delight

SHE

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTII, 1804.

THE SECRET OF A HAPPY DAY.

"The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him." Ps. xxv. 14.

Just to follow hour by hour
As He leadeth;

Just to draw the moment's power
As it needeth.

Just to trust Him, this is all!

Then the day will surely be

Peaceful, whatsoe'er befall,

Bright and blesséd, calm and free.

Just to trust, and yet to ask
Guidance still;

Take the training or the task,
As He will.

Just to take the loss or gain,
As He sends it;

Just to take the joy or pain,
As He lends it.

Α'

He who formed thee for His praise
Will not miss the gracious aim;
So to-day and all thy days

Shall be moulded for the same!

Just to leave in His dear hand
Little things,

All we cannot understand,

All that stings.

Just to let Him take the care
Sorely pressing,

Finding all we let Him bear
Changed to blessing.

This is all! and yet the way

Marked by Him who loves thee best:

Secret of a happy day,

Secret of His promised rest.

FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL.

BOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw within the moonlight in the room,

Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold;
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head. And with a look made all of sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Adhem. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Adhem spoke more low,

But cheerly still, and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote and vanished; the next night
It came again, with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

SW

VIRTUE.

WEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky:

The dew shall weep thy fall to-night;

For thou must die.

Sweet Rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows ye have your closes,

And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives;

But though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.

GEORGE HERBERT.

E useful where thou livest, that they may

BE

Both want, and wish thy pleasing presence still. Kindness, good parts, great places are the way To compass this. Find out men's wants and will, And meet them there. All worldly joys go less To the one joy of doing kindnesses.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS.

I

SEE them far away,

In their calm beauty, on the evening skies, Across the golden west their summits rise, Bright with the radiance of departing day; And often ere the sunset light was gone, Gazing and longing, I have hastened on, As with new strength, all weariness and pain Forgotten in the hope those blissful heights to gain.

Heaven lies not far beyond,

But these are hills of earth, our changeful air
Circles around them, and the dwellers there
Still own mortality's mysterious bond.

The ceaseless contact, the continued strife
Of sin and grace, which can but close with life,

Is not yet ended, and the Jordan's roar

Still sounds between their path and the Celestial shore.