222

TIME TO GO.

In the cool depths below.

A little later, and the Asters blue

Depart in crowds, a brave and cheery crew;

While Golden Rod, still wide awake and gay,
Turns him away,

Furls his bright parasol,

And, like a little hero, meets his fate.
The Gentians, very proud to sit up late,

Next follow. Every Fern is tucked and set
'Neath coverlet,

Downy and soft and warm.

No little seedling voice is heard to grieve
Or make complaints the folding woods beneath;
No lingerer dares to stay, for well they know
The time to go.

Teach us your patience, brave,

Dear flowers, till we shall dare to part like you, Willing God's will, sure that His clock strikes true, That His sweet day augurs a sweeter morrow,

With smiles, not sorrow.

SUSAN COOLidge.

SOME MURMUR.

223

SOME MURMUR.

SOME murmur when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid

(Love that not ever seems to tire)

Such rich provision made.

R. C. TRENCH.

.224

THE WOUNDED CURLEW.

THE WOUNDED CURLEW.

By vonder sandy cove where, every day,
The tide flows in and out,

A lonely bird in sober brown and grey
Limps patiently about;

And round the basin's edge, o'er stones and sand,

And many a fringing weed,

He steals, or on the rocky ledge doth stand,
Crying, with none to heed.

But sometimes from the distance he can hear

His comrades' swift reply;

Sometimes the air rings with their music clear,
Sounding from sea and sky.

And then, O then his tender voice, so sweet,

Is shaken with his pain,

For broken are his pinions strong and fleet,
Never to soar again.

Wounded and lame and languishing he lives,

Once glad and blithe and free,

THE WOUNDED CURLEW.

225

And in his prison limits frets and strives

His ancient self to be.

The little sandpipers about him play;

The shining waves they skim,

Or round his feet they seek their food, and stay

As if to comfort him.

My pity cannot help him, though his plaint
Brings tears of wistfulness;

Still must he grieve and mourn, forlorn and faint,
None may his wrong redress.

O bright-eyed boy! was there no better way

A moment's joy to gain,

Than to make sorrow that must mar the day
With such despairing pain?

O children, drop the gun, the cruel stone!

O listen to my words,

And hear with me the wounded curlew moan

Have mercy on the birds!

C. THAXTER.

226

NEW YEAR HYMN.

NEW YEAR HYMN.

SUNLIGHT of the heavenly day,
Mighty to revive and cheer!
Bless our yet untrodden way,

Lead us through the entered year.
Where the shades of death we see,
Let Thy living brightness be;
Let it speed our lingering feet;
Let it shine on all we meet.

Forward, though our path be hid,
Though we pass the lurking foe,
Though the sound of war forbid,
Girt with gladness, let us go;
Bold in Thy protecting care,
Strong to prove Thee faithful there,
Through the desert or the sea,

On, to find our home in Thee.

Open Thou beneath our tread

Springs, the distance could not show;

From the holy fountain-head

Let them rise where'er we go: