,,And rather be it mute for aye,
Than yield its music sweet
To Malice, Scorn, Impurity,
To Slander, or Deceit!

,,Degrade not thou the instrument That God has given to thee, But till its latest breath be spent, Let Conscience keep the key!"

LITTLE CHILDREN.

,,Of such is the kingdom of Heaven." AND yet we check and chide The airy angels as they float about us, With rules of so-call'd wisdom, till they grow

The same tame slaves to custom and the world.

And day by day the fresh frank soul that look'd

Out of those wistful eyes, and smiling play'd

With the wild roses of that changing cheek,
And modulated all those earnest tones,
And danced in those light foot-falls to a tune
Heart-heard by them, inaudible to us,
Folds closer its pure wings, whereon the
hues

They caught in heaven already pale and pine,
And shrinks amazed and scared back from

our gaze. And so the evil grows. The graceful flower May have its own sweet way in bud and bloom;

May drink, and dare with upturn'd gaze, the light,

Or nestle 'neath the guardian leaf, or wave
Its fragrant bells to ever-roving breeze,
Or wreathe with blushing grace the fragile

THE LONELY CHURCH.

Ir stood among the chesnuts, its white spire And slender turrets pointing where man's heart

Should oftener turn. Up went the wooded cliffs,

Abruptly beautiful, above its head,
Shutting with verdant screen the waters out,
That just beyond in deep sequester'd vale
Wrought out their rocky passage. Cluster-
ing roofs
And varying sounds of village industry
Swell'd from its margin, while the busy
loom,
Replete with radiant fabrics, told the skill
Of the prompt artisan.

But all around The solitary dell, where meekly rose That consecrated church, there was no voice Save what still Nature in her worship breathes,

And that unspoken lore with which the dead Do commune with the living. There they lay, Each in his grassy tenement, the sire

Of many winters, and the noteless babe
Over whose empty cradle, night by night,
Sat the poor mother mourning, in her tears
Forgetting what a little span of time
Did hold her from her darling. And me-
thought

How sweet it were, so near the sacred house Where we had heard of Christ, and taken his yoke,

And Sabbath after Sabbath gathered strength To do his will, thus to lie down and rest, Close 'neath the shadow of its peaceful walls; And when the hand doth moulder, to lift up Our simple tomb-stone witness to that faith Which cannot die.

Heaven bless thee, Lonely
Church,

And daily mayst thou warn a pilgrim-band, From toil, from cumbrance, and from strife to flee,

And drink the waters of eternal life:
Still in sweet fellowship with trees and skies,
Friend both of earth and heaven, devoutly
stand

To guide the living and to guard the dead.