POW com'st thou on that gentle hand, where love should kisses bring For beauty's tribute? answer me, thou foul and frightful thing! Why dwell upon thy hideous form those reverent eyes that seem Themselves the worshipped stars that light some youthful poet's dream? 194 UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. "When bends the thick and golden grain, that ripes at my command, From the cracked earth I creep to bless with food the fainting land ; Throned in the slime of ancient Nile, I bid the earth to bear, Dark teacher! tell me yet again, what hidden lore doth lie Learn further, that one common chain runs through the heavenly plan, LEITCH RITCHIE UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. 'APPY is he who lives to understand, All natures,—to the end that he may find The union, the partition where, that makes Kind and degree, among all visible beings; The constitutions, powers, and faculties, UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. Which they inherit,-cannot step beyond,― To every class its station and its office, Through all the mighty commonwealth of things, Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love ;- The dignity of life is not impaired The humbler cravings of the heart; and he And such benign affection cultivates Among the inferior kinds; not merely those Upon his care, from whom he also looks These, with a soothed or elevated heart, 195 Observe their ways, and, free from envy, find In the waste wilderness: the soul ascends, Drawn towards her native firmament of heaven, A proud communication with the sun! WORDSWORTH. SONNET. HE bright June woods with woodland sounds are ringing ; A thousand insects, with life-joyous hum Disport around; and through the orchard, singing Its way to corny fields. No thing is dumb THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. Speaks odour as it opes; and blithely flinging Spice-scents abroad, pink-blossomed hawthorn sheds Rare colours on the daisies at its foot !— 'Midst all this eloquence of Nature, mute Man's melted spirit should not rest! Their heads Flowers raise to greet the sun; and man, too, lifts His thankful soul to God for all these summer gifts! CALDER CAMpbell. THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. M OTHER, mother! the winds are at play ; Look, dear mother! the flowers all lie See how slowly the streamlet glides Poor Tray is asleep in the noon-day sun, There flies a bird to a neighbouring tree, But very lazily flieth he, And he sits and twitters a gentle note That scarcely ruffles his little throat. 197 |