New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; New mercies, each returning day, New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven. If, on our daily course, our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, As for some dear familiar strain Such is the bliss of souls serene, O could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise! We need not bid, for cloistered cell, How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. 3 The trivial round, the common task, Seek we no more; content with these, As Heaven shall bid them, come and go :- Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love J. Keble. II. HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX. [16.-.] SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ; Good speed!' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew ; 'Speed!' echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 4 How they brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix. 'Twas moonset at starting; but, while we drew near At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, 'Stay spur ! 'Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, 'We'll remember at Aix'-for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Loos and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our foot broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff ; Till over by Dalhem a dome-tower sprang white, And Gallop,' gasped Joris, 'for Aix is in sight!' 'How they'll greet us!'—and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is, friends flocking round As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, R. Browning. III. TO A WATER-FOWL. HITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,― Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form: yet on my heart He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. W. C. Bryant. IV. SONG OF PRAISE. O God, ye choir above, begin |