She had ever met him with many smiles,
And ever with gentle words till now.
So many years he had watched in vain

For one so guileless, so pure and true;
And now in the dawn of his heart's first love,
She had glided away like the morning dew.

"Twice her age," he had often thought,

When his fingers twined in her curls of gold, How in the future a widow's weeds,

May band them down with its mournful fold. "Twice her age," 'tis no difference now,

She will have sorrow and tears no more; "Twice her age," but that is no matter, Where reck'ning by days and years is o'er.

He knew she would waken; the deathless ray
Of immortal life cheered his breaking heart.
He knew she'd remember; for memory's might
Lay safe in the hold of her deathless part;
And at her waking would understand

Why she left him who was all her own :
Ah! clouds that are dense and ways all dark,
Glow in the light of the jasper throne.

He felt that life was within him still,

That his road branched far from that quiet spot,

That many changes awaited him;

Her work was finished, but his was not.

Trouble may drench him with fearful storms,
Temptation wild may that strong heart stir,
On and on through Life's wilderness,

Ere the time comes for his taking her.

And so he left her, and turned away
With a steady step and a tearless eye;
But the ice lay heavily on his heart,

And the sun was quenched in his manhood's sky.
Ah! little we know of the cares and woes,
The gnawing worm and the secret blight,
That hold their revels in human breasts,
Deeply hidden from mortal sight.

Healer of hearts that are broken and worn,
Gather Thy sheep from all dreary ways,
Where they have scattered and driven been,
Throughout the cloudy and dismal days.
Fold us, oh fold us, beloved, ere long,

Safe in the precincts of that bright land.
Where others beside sweet Evelyn Hope,

Shall "wake, and remember, and understand."

SILENT WORSHIP.

(On witnessing the Deaf and Dumb at Prayer.)

IS Sabbath eve, the hour of prayer, A waiting congregation bow; They hear no music in the air, They wait no calm responses low, Repressed is every smile and sigh,

No words their burning thoughts convey; The bended knee, the anxious eye,

They hear not, speak not, yet they pray.

From the dark chambers of each soul,

Through the bright eyes strong reason looksNo sound of solemn organ's roll,

No hallowed words from well-worn books:
Solemn Te Deum, glorious hymn,
Kyrie Eleison, humble prayer,
To them are mystic shadows dim,
But angels listen-God is there.

Oh, ear, that boasts thy magic power,

Oh, tongue, that prides thyself in speech,
Draw near unto this silent prayer,

Learn what these worshippers can teach.
Needs our Great Teacher ear or tongue,
That He may understand our prayer ?-
He who hung speechless stars on high,
And makes the silent flowers His care.

Has He not mystic telegraphs,

Reaching from earth to heaven above? May not these silent builders find,

In His calm temple, rest and love? And each mysterious untold sign,

Like Jacob's ladder based on earth,

Shall with unutter'd glories shine,

And bring down beings of heavenly birth.

Oh! blessed work of charity,

To pour into these minds of night
The glory of the perfect day,

The blessings of the Holy Light;
Oh! sweet reward, to stand at last
With these around, no longer dumb,
And hear amid the Archangel's blast,

The Master's welcome, "Faithful, come!"

IN THE CORN FIELDS.

REMEMBER one of the bygone days,
Passed in Ohio's sunny fields,

And a kind old farmer instructing me
In all the blessings the Far West yields;
For, just from England, I never had seen
The "
seven-acre lot" of green Indian corn,
Or the trailing vine of the melon tribe,
Covered with dew in the summer morn.

Seized with a new, strange impulse to write,
With a pin I inscribed on the yielding rind
Scraps from Hemans, and Thomson, and White,
Sweet texts and hymns that arose to my mind.
But all to no purpose; no trace remained,

And, wondering, I said to my friend, "How's this? I can't read one word of all I have written;

There's The Lord's Prayer,' and a hymn on this."

Well, never mind, birdie," the old man said,

"You must come here again a few weeks hence." Enigmatical comfort it was to me,

For the future seemed of slight consequence. Ah! but the summer flew happily by;

Say, why do such hours come back no more? Again I was nearing the seven-acre lot,

And the old man was counting his honest store.