ces by.

The rich mellow sunshine that kisses the earth,
The flow'rs that laugh up from the sod,
The song-birds that psalm out their jubilant mirth
Heart-rapt in the presence of God,
The sweet purling brooklet, with voice soft and low,
The sea-shouts, like peals from above,
The sky-kissing mountains, the valleys below,
All tell us to live and to love.

THE TWO TREES.

A FABLE.

Two trees once grew beside a running brook:
An Alder, one, of unassuming mien:
His mate, a Poplar, who, with lofty look,
Wore, with a rustling flirt, his robe of green.
With pompous front the Poplar mounted high,
And curried converse with each swelling breeze;
While Alder seemed content to live and die
A lowly shrub among surrounding trees.

And many a little ragged urchin came
And plucked the juicy berries from the bough
Of teeming Alder, trading with the same,
Thus earning oft an honest meal, I trow:
But stuck-up Poplar glanced with pride supreme
At such low doings--such plebeian ties--
Cocked up his nose, and thought--oh! fatal dream!--
To grow, and grow, until he reached the skies.

Each Autumn Alder brought forth berries bright,
And freely gave to all who chose to take:
Each Summer, Poplar added to his height,
And wore his robe with loftier, prouder shake,
One day the woodman, axe on shoulder, came,
And laid our soaring Poplar 'mongst the dead,
Stripped off his robe, and sent him--O the shame!--
To prop the gable of a donkey shed.

MORAL.

Whoe'er, like Alder, strives to aid
The lowly where he can,
Shall win respect from every soul
That bears the stamp of man:
But he who, Poplar-like, o'er-rides
Poor mortals as they pass,
Will well be used if used to prop
A stable for an ass.

STANZAS:

WRITTEN IN THE SHADOW OF A VERY DARK CLOUD.

"Never saw I the righteous forsaken,"
Once sang the good Psalmist of old;
"Nor his seed for a crust humbly begging."
How oft has the story been told!
But the story would ne'er have been written,
Had the writer but lived in our day,
When thousands with hunger are smitten--
No matter how plead they or pray.

They may say there's a lining of silver
To the darkest--the dreariest cloud:
That garniture, white fringe, and flowers,
Grace the black pall, the coffin, and shroud.
But the