Up from the meadows rich with corn… Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick… Green-walled by the hills of Mary… Round about them orchards sweep,

Light, warmth, and sprouting green… Blue, stainless, steel-bright ethe… Tranquillity upon the deep-hushed… The freshening meadows, and the hi… Voice of the west-wind from the hi…

She sang alone, ere womanhood had… The gift of song which fills the a… Tender and sweet, a music all her… May fitly linger where she knelt t…

How sweetly on the wood-girt town The mellow light of sunset shone! Each small, bright lake, whose wat… Mirror the forest and the hill, Reflected from its waveless breast

THANK God for rest, where none… And none can make afraid; For Peace that sits as Plenty’s g… Beneath the homestead shade! Bring pike and gun, the sword’s re…

NAUHAUGHT, the Indian deacon,… Dwelt, poor but blameless, where h… Stretches its shrunk arm out to al… And the relentless smiting of the… Awoke one morning from a pleasant…

A HARVEST IDYL. PROEM. I CALL the old time back: I bri… in tender memory of the summer day When, where our native river lapse…

. GIFT from the cold and silent Pa… A relic to the present cast, Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand,

I write my name as one, On sands by waves o’errun Or winter’s frosted pane, Traces a record vain. Oblivion’s blankness claims

'Midst the men and things which wi… Haunt an old man’s memory still, Drollest, quaintest of them all, With a boy’s laugh I recall Good old Abram Morrison.

Not always as the whirlwind’s rush On Horeb’s mount of fear, Not always as the burning bush To Midian’s shepherd seer, Nor as the awful voice which came

So, this is all,—the utmost reach Of priestly power the mind to fett… When laymen think, when women prea… A war of words, a ‘Pastoral Lette… Now, shame upon ye, parish Popes!

STILL in thy streets, O Paris!… Of blood defy the cleansing autumn… Still breaks the smoke Messina’s… And Naples mourns that new Bartho… When squalid beggary, for a dole o…

LOOK on him! through his dungeon… Feebly and cold, the morning light Comes stealing round him, dim and… As if it loathed the sight. Reclining on his strawy bed,

A railway conductor who lost his l… railway, May 9, 1873. CONDUCTOR BRADLEY, (always… Be said with reverence!) as the sw… Smitten to death, a crushed and ma…