The Reaper and the Flowers.

HERE is a Reaper, whose name is Death, and, with his sickle keen,

he reaps the bearded grain at a breath,

and the flowers that grow between.

"shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he; "have nought but the bearded grain? though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again."

he gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,

he kissed their drooping leaves;

it was for the Lord of Paradise

he bound them in his sheaves.

my Lord has need of these flowerets gay,"

the Reaper said, and smiled;

"dear tokens of the earth are they,

where He was once a child.

"they shall all bloom in fields of light, transplanted by my care,

and saints, upon their garments white,
these sacred blossoms wear."

and the mother gave, in tears and pain,
the flowers she most did love;
she knew she should find them all again
in the fields of light above.

oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath,

the Reaper came that day;

'twas an angel visited the green earth,

and took the flowers away.

LONGFELLOW.

Debemur Morti.

ESSOR obit mundum: mors illi nomen: acutae falcis inexpletum sedulus urget opus: hordeaque et pariter barbatas inter aristas quae radiant florum milia multa secat.

et, nihil, exclamat, pulchri retinere licebit, et barbata mihi est unica praeda seges? gratus odor florum; sed, quamquam suaviter halent, has in delicias nil mihi iuris erit.

protinus ad flores rorantia lumina vertit, addidit et lentis osçula maesta comis:

stringit enim strictosque aliam dimittit in oram, nutriat hos proprio qua Paradisus ero. haec, ait arridens Messor, quae laeta patescunt, germina sunt Domino rite legenda meo. talia quippe lubens terrae monumenta videbit, vixit ubi quondam parvulus ipse puer. florebunt agris in pellucentibus omnes, transtulerit glebae quos mea cura novae; felicesque chori niveas intersita vestes floribus e sacris plurima serta gerent. audiit, et lacrimis oculos suffusa dolentes delicias mater tradidit ipsa suas;

tradidit, et Flores, quos nunc amittimus, inquit,

restituet diae postmodo lucis

ager.

credite, nil crudele movens, non concitus ira,

venerat haec illo Messor in arva die;

sed viridi illapsus terrae bonus incola caeli dona tulit flores grata futura Deo.

G G

K.

All Things are Vanity.

HEN mirth is full and free,
some sudden gloom will be;

when haughty power mounts high,
the watcher's axe is nigh.

all growth has bound; when greatest found,
it hastes to die.

when the rich town, that long
has lain its huts among,

rears its new structures vast,
and vaunts,-it shall not last.

bright tints that shine are but the sign
of summer past.

when, too, thine eye surveys
with fond adoring gaze

and yearning heart thy friend,
love to its grave doth tend.
all gifts below, save faith, but grow
towards an end.

LYRA APOSTOLICA.

The Parish Priest to his Successor.

F thou dost find

a house built to thy mind

without thy cost,

serve thou the more

God and the poor;

my labour is not lost.

HERBERT.

NTER soluti gaudia pectoris
persaepe nubes ingruit horrida;
utcumque sublimi potestas

summa sedens dominatur arce,
ultor securim praeparat. Omnia
quae procreantur limite parvulo
clauduntur, atque in maius aucta
funere deproperant caduco.
En qua per agros sparsa mapalia
dudum latebant, urbs nova colligit
caementa, et insigni domorum
mole nimis locuples superbit,
mansura paullum: mox cadit obruta
turpi ruina.
Silva coloribus

quam vestit autumnus coruscis omen habet morientis anni: et cum sodalem pectore sedulo fixusque amanti lumine suspicis, iam nunc sepulcrales inire

fluxus Amor properat tenebras. quaecumque nobis sunt data munera iniurioso limite temporis

urgentur; indefessa longo

sola fides stabilitur aevo.

H. J. H.

Apto cum Lare Fundus.

AEC tibi si cordi est, qui nunc mea munia curas, sumptibus haud propriis aedificata domus, da tu pauperibus tanto plus ipse Deoque: sic poterit noster non periisse labor.

к.

The Lord is my Shepherd.

Y Shepherd is the Lord; no care
or craving want I know:

in pastures green he feeds me, where the soothing waters flow:

He calls my wandering spirit back
from paths of sin and shame,
and leads me in the righteous track,
so holy is his Name.

I fear no evil, though my way

through death's dark valley lie; thy rod and staff are all my stay; thy guiding hand is nigh: Thy table for my feast is spread in sight of all my foes;

thy cheerful oil anoints my head, my cup of joy o'erflows.

still with thy love and goodness blest,

till life's last days are o'er,

within thy dwelling I shall rest,

o Lord, for evermore.

PSALM XXIII. CAMBRIDGE VERSION.

The Vanity of the World.

ROTHER, know the world deceiveth:
trust in Him who safety giveth.
fix not on the world thy trust;

she feeds us, but she turns to dust:
and the bare earth or kingly throne
alike may serve to die upon.

HEBER.