The Monk and Shepherd.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

MONK.

SHEPHERD, why mournest thou apart?
Oh, tell thy grief to me;

For here too beats a wounded heart,

That draweth me to thee.

SHEPHERD.

Askest thou still ?-oh, look around
Upon my home's green bower,

The fields no more with promise crowned,
And blighted every flower.

MONK.

And was it this, thy thought of woe?
'Tis but a dream of gloom;

Soon will thy flowers in beauty glow,
Thy trees be rich in bloom.

But dark the cross at which I pray,
'Mid spring flowers, as in storm;
Ne'er greens nor blooms, but ah! each day
Bears still a Dying Form.

The Bell.

FROM THE GERMAN.

BELL, thy tone is joyful
When a bridal party

At the altar kneels ;

Bell, thy tone is holy
When, on Sunday morning,
Lonely are the fields.

Bell, thy tone is soothing
When at eve thou warnest,
"Time to go to bed;"
Bell, thy tone is mournful
At the last long parting,

When a friend is dead.

Say, how canst thou sorrow? How canst thou rejoice? Lifeless metal thou!

Yet our cares thou knowest, Knowest all our gladness,

Feelest all I trow.

'Tis the Church's blessing,

Wondrous might hath given
To thee, faithful bell;
Drooping hearts to cherish,
Raging storms to banish,
Evil powers to quell.

Evening Clouds.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

THERE are clouds in evening's sky,
Clouds so bathed in glory bright,
They breathe themselves away in light ;

Yet they shaded earth in gloom,

And my heart makes glad reply:

"Thus, when all life's joys are o'er,

Sunlight set, to rise no more,

The shadows of the soul may bloom."

St Margaret's Flower.

OH, see the little daisy flower
Upon its lowly bed,

Unfolding to the sun and shower
Its leaflets tipped with red !

'Tis like to fair St Margaret,
Who lived a holy maid,

And who, from early youth, was yet
In innocence arrayed.

Because she was a Christian maid,
And hoped in God most high,
The heathen men around her said,
St Margaret must die.

St Margaret was a Catholic,
And all her heart was pure,
And she rejoiced, for Jesus' sake,
That death she might endure.

The devil like a dragon came,
And tried her heart to fright;
But, by the Cross, she overcame,

And vanquished all his might.

Then cheerfully her blood she shed, A martyr true to be;

Beneath the axe she bowed her head, And won the victory.

The little daisy, to this hour,

As meek and mild as she,

Is chosen for St Margaret's flower,
And emblem true to be.

And when we see its leaves and bud,
So brightly tipped with red,
We think upon the dragon's blood
That brave St Margaret shed.

The dragon she had power to kill
By Holy Cross's sign,

And so we too shall conquer still
Through its blest aid divine.

And when the daisy flower we see,
Oh, let us ne'er forget

Το pray, our souls from sin to free,
Our mild St Margaret!