Violet'S Song

V.

I droop by the cold, grey stone!-- I faint in the smitten day!-- I hear not the song of my own free bird Whose joyous music my glad heart stirred But yester-morn! I can see no more The humming-bird's wing as it flutters o'er The fragrant clover-bloom! The brook, with a far-off, sorrowful tone, Seemeth in measureless grief to moan As it hurrieth on its way-- The breath of my lost perfume Floats on the wandering breeze, Over the meadow's perishing bloom, Over the cold, blue seas! I would not gather it back, I would not fill anew With love's pure incense my broken urn, For the lost can never more return From the sky's encompassing blue!

It is well!--I would not hang A weight on his fetterless wing; For was he not made for the sun-bright sky?-- To face the glories that burn on high?-- And I, to sit 'mid Earth's fading bloom, And waste my life in the faint perfume I fling to the thankless breeze?-- Let him cleave the azure infinite!-- Let him pour his soul out in song's free might!-- Till the white-robed seraphs that dwell in light Shall stoop to hear him sing!-- Be it mine to fade ere the day-beams die, And alone in the sighing grass to lie, With my dull face turned to the tearless sky, A faded, forgotten thing!

THE GRACIOUS PROVIDER.

"They need not go away!" the Master said, "Give ye to them." Ah, Lord, behold our store-- These loaves, these fishes,--see, we have no more! How shall this fainting throng with these be fed? "Make them sit down!"--and the disciples sped To do His will. He blessed, and brake, and gave And as they ate, each heart grew strong and brave, Filled, till they craved no more, with hallowed bread. Thus, when our hearts grow faint, and stores are small, And thou demandest all that we possess, O, help us, Lord, to bring that little all, Knowing shouldst thou the gift accept and bless, Our worthless store, so changed and glorified, Ourselves shall feed, and fainting throngs beside.