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Page:Littell's Living Age - Volume 132.djvu/776

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Wearily waiting for spring! patience is almost gone;
The winds sigh coldly and drearily over the land forlorn;
The trees with outstretched arms standing naked and bare,
Patiently waiting for spring to clothe them, beauty-fair.

Silently waiting for spring! down in their earthly bed,
The tender flowers are longing to lift their bright young heads;
The running burn moves sadly through leafless bramble boughs,
An answering voice of gladness vainly it seeks to arouse.

Longingly waiting for spring! the fading children of earth
Look with a hopeful smile for nature's coming birth;
They dream of a life revived, and raise the drooping head,
As if they fain would catch the first sound of her tread.

Fearfully waiting for spring! for the silent form and voice,
That in her glorious beauty will never more rejoice;
And like a rushing torrent fond mem'ries will awake,
As spring-time breathes again o'er hearts that well-nigh break.

Joyfully waiting for spring! the heart of youth would fain
With happy beaming eyes welcome spring again;
Bringing fresh hopes and pleasures, breathing no sorrow or blight,
Winging them onward with her through all her happy flight.

Peacefully waiting for spring! mind and body at rest,
Lying with folded hands over a passionless breast;
Unheeding the raving blasts and the cold wintry day,
Awaiting the last spring-time, never to pass away.

Golden Hours. M. C. W.



What God does, that is surely right,
For perfect is his will;
Whilst he my pathway ordereth,
I gladly hold me still.
For he, my God, shall in my need
My guide and guardian be,
And nought I fear whilst this I know,
He watcheth over me.

What God does, that is surely right,
He never can deceive;
Or those who in his love confide
Alone, unaided leave.
In his protection I will trust,
And patient wait the day
When at his bidding all my griefs
Shall pass for aye away.

What God does, that is surely right,
His love can never fail;
No other remedies but those
He gives me can avail
To heal my wounds. I therefore bow
Submissive to his will;
Upon his truth I build my hopes,
And trust his goodness still.

What God does, that is surely right,
He is my life and light,
Who nothing evil can ordain
To those who trust aright.
Though hidden are his dealings now,
The time fast draweth near
When all his wisdom, all his love,
Shall openly appear.

What God does, that is surely right;
Gives he a bitter cup?
I will not fear, but at his word
Obedient drink it up.
The day shall surely dawn at last,
When peace shall overflow
My aching heart, and all my wounds
His healing touch shall know.

What God does that is surely right,
This truth will I maintain;
Yea, though my path in life should prove
Rough, thorny, full of pain,
My heavenly Father's arm shall be
My never-failing stay,
And nought I fear whilst this I know,
He ordereth all my way.

Golden Hours. Isabella M. Mortimer.


As one who climbs unto the mountain's brow
Finds the strong head which served him on the plain
Dizzy and blind, the heart whose pulse was low
Now throbbing wildly with the upward strain,
So fares the spirit on the heights of thought.
Reason, the manful, blankly stares and reels,
While Love, the childlike, consciously o'erwrought,
Cries out in anguish to the God it feels.

Spectator. H. G. Hewlett.