Worship him in the wild wood;
Worship him amidst the flowers;
Pluck the buttercups, and raise
Your voices in his praise.

Edward Youl (altered)

10. THE JOY OF WORSHIP.

H! SWEETER than the marriage feast,

OH!

"Tis sweeter far to me,

To walk together to the church
With a goodly company!

To walk together to the church,

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,
Old men and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!

He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

S. T. Coleridge.

11. THE UNFINISHED PRAYER.

TOW I lay me."-"Say it, darling."

"NOW

"Lay me," lisped the tiny lips

Of my daughter, kneeling, bending

O'er her folded finger-tips.

"Down to sleep."-"To sleep," she murmured,And the curly head dropped low, "I pray the Lord." I gently added, "You can say it all, I know."

"Pray the Lord”

Fainter still 66

the words came faintly,

my soul to keep: "

Then the tired head fairly nodded,
And the child was fast asleep.

But the dewy eyes half opened
When I clasped her to my breast;
And the dear voice softly whispered,

66

Mamma, God knows all the rest.”

Oh the trusting, sweet confiding

Of the child-heart! Would that I Thus might trust my heavenly Father, Him who hears my feeblest cry!

12. THE BOY AND THE ANGEL.

MORNING, evening, noon, and night,

"Praise God!" sang. Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned,
By which the daily bread was earned.
Hard he labored, long and well;
O'er the work his boy's curls fell:
But ever at each period

He stopped, and sang, "Praise God!"
Then back again his curls he threw,
And, cheerful, turned to work anew.
Said Blaise, the listening monk, "Well done!
I doubt not thou art heard, my son,
As well as if thy voice to-day

Were praising God the Pope's great way.

This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome

Praises God from Peter's dome."
Said Theocrite, "Would God that I
Might praise him that great way, and die!"

Night passed, day shone,

And Theocrite was gone.

With God a day endures alway;
A thousand years are but a day.

God said in heaven, "Nor day nor night
Now brings the voice of my delight."
Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,

Spread his wings, and sank to earth;
Entered in flesh the empty cell;

Lived there, and played the craftsman well;
And, morning, evening, noon, and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy to youth he grew:
The man put off the stripling's hue;
The man matured, and fell away
Into the season of decay;

And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.
God said, "A praise is in my ear:
There is no doubt in it, no fear.
So sing old worlds, and so

New worlds that from my footstool go;
Clearer loves sound other ways:

I miss my little human praise."

Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings; off fell
The flesh disguise; remained the cell.
'Twas Easter Day: he flew to Rome,
And paused above St. Peter's dome.
In the robing-room, close by
The great outer gallery,

With his holy vestments dight,
Stood the new Pope, Theocrite:

And all his past career

Came back upon him clear,

Since when, a boy, he plied his trade,
"Till on his life the sickness weighed;
And in his cell, when death drew near,
An angel in a dream brought cheer;
And, rising from the sickness drear,
He grew a priest, and now stood here.
To the east with praise he turned,
And on his sight the angel burned.
"I bore thee from thy craftsman's cell,
And set thee here I did not well.
Vainly I left my angel sphere;

Vain was thy dream for many a year:
Thy voice's praise seemed weak; it dropped;
The chorus of creation stopped!

Go back, and praise again

The early way, while I remain.

With that weak voice which we disdain,
Take up creation's pausing strain.

Back to the cell and poor employ;

Become the craftsman and the boy!"

Theocrite grew old at home:
A new pope dwelt in Peter's dome.
One vanished as the other died:

They sought the good God side by side.

R. Browning.