THE ROSE.

OW much of memory dwells amidst thy bloom, Rose! ever wearing beauty for thy dower! The bridal day-the festival-the tombThou hast thy part in each-thou stateliest flower!

Therefore with thy soft breath come floating by
A thousand images of love and grief,
Dreams filled with tokens of mortality,

Deep thoughts of all things beautiful and brief.

Not such thy spells o'er those that hailed thee first
In the clear light of Eden's golden day;
There thy rich leaves to crimson glory burst,
Linked with no dim remembrance of decay.

Rose! for the banquet gathered, and the bier;
Rose! coloured now by human hope or pain
Surely where death is not-nor change nor fear,
Yet may we meet thee, Joy's own flower again!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE LILY.

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow."-MATT. vi. 28.

WEET nurslings of the vernal skies,

Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew;
What more than magic in you lies,

To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow on Life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay,
Memorials prompt and true.

As when ye crowned the sunshine hours

Of happy wanderers there.

Fallen all beside-the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In Reason's world what storms are rife!
What passions rage and glare!

But cheerful and unchanged the while
Your first and perfect form ye show,
'The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.

The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our common thought;—
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And, as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,
Your innocent mirth may borrow.
The birds of air before us fleet,

They cannot brook our shame to meet;
But we may taste your solace sweet,
And come again to-morrow.

Ye fearless in your nests abide

Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried

By all but lowly eyes:

For ye could draw the admiring gaze
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys;
Your order wild, your fragrant maze,
He taught us how to prize.

Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour,

As when He paused, and owned you good;

His blessing on earth's primal bower,

Ye feel it all renewed.

What care ye now, if winter's storm
Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form?
Christ's blessing at your heart is warm,
Ye fear no vexing mood.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,
That daily court you and caress,
How few the happy secret find
Of your calm loveliness!
"Live for to-day! to-morrow's light
To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight;
Go, sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven thy morn shall bless.

KEBLE

LILIES OF THE FIELD.

MATT. vi. 28, 29.

LOWERS of the field! 'tis yours to preach
Lessons of truth, and humbly teach
The faithless and the proud;

Arrayed in garb of lovely hue,

Our Father's care we trace in you;
And still to Him who made you true,
Ye warn the thoughtless crowd.

Let those of feeble faith, whose breast
With doubts and fears can never rest,
Consider how ye grow;

Ye toil not with perplexing care,
Ye do not spin the coats you wear,
Nor paint those colours bright and fair
In which ye sweetly glow.

The hand of Him who built the skies
Adorns his flowers with varied dies,

And clothes each beauteous plant;

The Eternal One, whose sovereign power
Can make earth's haughtiest despot cower,
Stoops to regard the humblest flower,
And tend each little want.

O ye who cannot trust your God,
Turn to yon fields, and look abroad,
Review the lilies there;

Each verdant leaf, each tint behold:
Not even Israel's king of old,
Arrayed in purple and in gold,

With these could ere compare.

REV. J. S. BROAD.

WILD FLOWERS.

E field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you,

For ye waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teemed around me with fairy delight, And when daisies and buttercups gladdened my sight, Like treasures of silver and gold.

I love you for lulling me back into dreams

Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams, And of birchen glades breathing their balm,

While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote, And the deep, mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note Made music that sweetened the calm.

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune

Than ye speak to my heart, little wildings of June;
Of old ruinous castles ye tell,

Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find,
When the magic of Nature first breathed on my mind,
And your blossoms were part of her spell.

Even now what affections the violet awakes;
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes,
Can the wild water-lily restore:

What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks,
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy brooks
In the vetches that tangled their shore.

Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear,
Ere the fever of passion, or ague of fear,

Had scathed my existence's bloom,

Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage,
With visions of youth to revisit my age,

And I wish you to grow on my tomb.

CAMPBELL

WILD FLOWERS.

ILD flowers

I love right well

To visit where ye dwell,

On mountain, valley, or in woody bowers,
Whether coquetting with the garish sun,
Or weeping dewy tears 'neath evening's shadows dun.

By what name

Botanic ye are known,

I care not; your'e the sameIn glory garmented-each in your own ; And God's benginant mercy to his creatures Speaks out in all your fascinating features.

Since young years,

My soul's full love ye share;

And, treading where ye are,

My heart grows bigger, and shakes off its tears;
Sisters of beauty, earth's most radiant stars!

Shining forth side by side, unconscious of man's jars.