Love must, in short, Keep fond and true, Through good report, And evil too.

Else, here I swear,

Young Love may go,

For aught I care

To Jericho.

If neither feeling suits thy heart,

Let's see, to please thee, whether We may not learn some precious art To mix their charms together; One feeling, still more sweet, to form From two so sweet alreadyA friendship that like love is warm, A love like friendship steady. Thus let it be, thus let me woo, Dearest, thus we'll join the two.

THE GARLAND I SEND THEE.

THE Garland I send thee was cull'd from those bowers

Where thou and I wander'd in long vanish'd hours;
Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays,
B bears some remembrance of those happy days.

The roses were gather'd by that garden gate,
Where our meetings, though early, seem'd always
too late;
[moon,
Where ling'ring full oft through a summer-night's
partings, though late, appear'd always too soon.

The rest were all cull'd from the banks of that glade.

Where, watching the sunset, so often we've stray'd, And mourn'd, as the time went, that Love had no power

To bind in his chain even one happy hour.

HOW SHALL I WOO?

If I speak to thee in Friendship's name,
Thou think'st I speak too coldly;
If I mention Love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires,
Why doom me thus to hover?
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires,
If more thou seek'st, a lover.
Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Fair one, choose between the two.

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play,
When first he comes to woo thee,
There's a chance that he may fly away
As fast as he flies to thee.

While Friendship, though on foot she come,
No flights of fancy trying,
Will, therefore, oft be found at home,
When Love abroad is flying.

Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Dear one, choose between the two.

Ir thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies:
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne,
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone.

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Maidens, unlov'd, like flowers in darkness thrown,
Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone.
Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear,
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year:
Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they
Go, fix thy mirror in Love's eyes alone.
[shone,

The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun.

I hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made mer and winter."-Psalm 1xxiv. 16, 17.

THOU art, O GOD, the life and light

Of all this wondrous world we see;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from Thee.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

When Day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the op'ning clouds of Even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into Heaven
Those hues that make the Sun's decline
So soft, so radiant, LORD! are Thine.

When Night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, LORD! are Thine.

When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are Thine!

I have heard that this air is by the late Mrs. Sheridan. It is ring to the beautiful old words, "I do confess thou'rt smooth and

fair"

THE BIRD, LET LOOSE. (AIR. BEETHOVEN.)

2

THE bird, let loose in eastern skies,
When hast'ning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, GOD, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,

To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay

My Soul, as home she springs ;— Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, Thy Freedom in her wings!

FALLEN IS THY THRONE.
(AIR. MARTINI.)

FALL'N is thy Throne, oh Israel!
Silence is o'er thy plains;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate,
Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee
On Etham's barren shore?

That fire from Heaven which led thee,
Now lights thy path no more.

2 The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch.

in order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined.

N