صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

The Gleaner.

To yonder field whence golden corn

In bounteous sheaves was borne away,
The gleaner hies with early morn,
And toils throughout the weary day.

So Heaven's best gifts are round us strewn,
Like golden ears amid the flowers;
We only have to bend us down,
With lowly hearts, to make them ours.

Chances of good, in work or word,
Around our daily path are laid ;
And low an angel's voice is heard :

"Oh, haste to glean them ere they fade!"

So our day's toil shall we fulfil;

And when the evening calm we see,

Like ripened sheaves, we too shall fill
The garner of eternity.

The Chapel on the Hill.

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

SEE the chapel on the mountain
Looking o'er the valley fair;
Far below, by field and fountain,
Sings the shepherd free from care.

Mournfully the bell is calling

For a burial on the hill :

The shepherd hears the echo falling,
And his joyous song is still.

Their graves are there, who once were singing

In the vale so full of joy,

And that bell shall yet be ringing

E'en for thee, gay shepherd boy !

The Three Flowers.

FROM THE GERMAN.

THERE is a sweet flower called modesty,
The maiden's garland and dower to be;
To her who preserves it fresh and fair,
All life shall bloom like a garden rare.

There is a sweet flower called humility,
No gem to maidens more fair can be ;
The angels wear it before God's throne,
Like a diamond bright on a golden crown.

A third fair flower is for ever near

Where the first two bloom so sweet and clear;
We call it innocence, loveliest gem
Of the flowery spring's bright diadem.

Then cherish, maiden, these flowerets three,
With heedful care and with constancy;
The soul that owns them is always fair,
For heavenly beauty its brow shall wear.

LEGEND OF

Our Lady of the Sainte Chapelle.

THERE stood a little peasant child
Before a sacred shrine,

Where our sweet Lady's image smiled
In majesty divine.

The child brought flowers and garlands green
That ne'er had known the storm;

She longed to crown her holy queen,
But all too short her arm.

"Oh, I am but a little child,

I cannot reach so high,

My little wreath of flowerets wild
Must wither here and die.

"Yet, holy mother, white and fair,
I wish to give it thee,

To lay it on thy marble hair,

So beautiful to see!"

Oh, wonder! then it seemed to smile,
That image fair and white;
Around it lingered for awhile
A ray of heaven's pure light.

Then slow its royal head it bowed,
So kindly and so mild,
Thus to receive the gift bestowed
By that poor little child.

And ever since, that image stands,
With drooping head so sweet,
Still blessing with its holy hands
The kneeler at its feet,

To show that Mary, gracious queen,
Still loves the spirit pure;

And bends to bless from heaven serene
The little and the poor.

« السابقةمتابعة »