O Moon,

From out whose peaceful life,

A portion came to guard her own from strife, Shine out!

And with your softest light,

Make happy Peace to rule her wedding night; Let all your rays in silvery sheen, Whisper of coming nights serene. Rejoice with so much of yourself that in her lives, Which she with loving joy to others freely gives.

O Stars,

From out whose twinkling beams

Came radiant gleams

To dwell, and find within her soul an added glow,

A sunnier warmth than ever stars do know,
Catch from unsetting suns to-night

A ruddier tint-a hint of Heavenly light.
Reflect her eyes

And make new beauty in the skies.

Rejoice with so much of yourself that in her lives, Which she with loving joy to others freely gives.

O Flowers,

Whose censers, swinging slow,

Exhaled rare perfumes drenched in morning
dew

To touch the breath that first she drew,
Lift loyally your heads and gayly smile
With Joy the while

Her bridal blossoms bloom.
Cull sweet perfection from her face,
And then give back your borrowed grace.
Rejoice with so much of yourself that in her lives,
Which she with loving joy to others freely gives.

O Music,

Born upon celestial lyres,

And thrilling 'mid angelic choirs,

Come nearer earth to-day,

Whisper in my lay;

Repeat the melody you sent,

When to the world her voice you lent.

Swell in the air that tells

The echoes of the bells;

Be like her Lover's heart,

Of her own a part.

Rejoice with so much of yourself that in her lives, Which she with loving joy to others freely gives

O Love,

From out whose very heart she came, Born from thy glowing flame,

Look down,

And in thy glorious way

Crown thou her wedding day.

Oh, nearer come-make thou her bridal bed,
Close by her side all future pathways tread,

Help her to see thy face

In every clime and place;

Rejoice with so much of thyself that in her lives, Which she with loving joy to others freely gives. And ye,

O favored ones and blest,

Whose hearts have been her rest
Since life began,

Ye listen now-and hear, with all Love's pain,
Her marriage vow;

Giving, where most ye long to keep,
Smiling, where most ye long to weep;

Repress your tears,

Banish your fears,

Rejoice with so much of yourselves that in her lives, Which she with loving joy to others freely gives.

THE BIRD IN THE BELFRY.

A BIRD in the belfry

Soars and sings-soars and sings, While the bell in the belfry

Rings and swings-rings and swings. Cheerily now from his tiny throat His notes in a burst of rapture float; For the bird so high in the belfry tower Seems to feel a joy in the passing hour.

The bird in the belfry

Soars and sings-soars and sings, But the bell in the belfry

Tolls and swings-tolls and swings. And now I know this birdling gay Sings for himself the livelong day; A hermit is he in his lonely tower, Bridal or bier have o'er him no power.

O bird in the belfry

Not like thee-not like thee, Does my heart in its music

Ask to be-ask to be;

Its notes must smile, if others are glad,
Its notes must weep if others are sad;
And sooner far would I keep with the crowd
Than sing alone on the fairest cloud.

SCARS.

SHE Sought her dead on battle-field,
Her King, of many wars;
And, finding him, she cried, "'T is he;
I know him by his scars."

23

O, record of a soldier's fate,

Whose light outshines the stars! When she who loved him best can say,

"I know him by his scars.”

'T is thus the Christian knows the King
Whose glory nothing mars;
Gazing at hands, and feet, and side,
We know Him by His scars.

O, happy we, if, serving Him

'Till death lets down the bars, We merit then, from lips divine, "I know thee by thy scars."

WASHINGTON.

IN ALL the land one object I behold;

A lofty height with pure and spotless crest,— Always snow-crowned-yet too near Heaven for cold

The sunlight ever finding there its rest. Within its great heart mighty streams are born,

And onward flow, through valleys hushed from strife,

Their touch awakening flowers that adorn Wide, fertile plains, where all things tell of life.

Toward it the weak may turn and learn aright The strength and courage that can fearless be In face of storm severe, by day, by night,

Serene and strong 'mid all adversity.

O Good and Great! the Mount is type of thee, Who lived and taught the Freedom that makes free.

LINCOLN.

IN ALL the Heaven one object holds my gaze,
Compelling witness of a reverent heart.
And ever, as I look, increased amaze
That mighty soul does to my soul impart.
It bids me see in every clime and race

The common bond that makes the world akin.
To find the fatherhood in every face;
To feel the love that brotherhood should win.

With malice none-with charity for all,
It led a nation in its darkest hour,
As though in silence it heard but the call
Of Him who sent His own, divinest power.
O, Sun of Sons! all time to come will scan
Thy wondrous soul, and cry," Behold the Man."

REBECCA PALFREY UTTER.

HE subject of this sketch is Mrs. Rebecca Pal

the author of a volume recently published in Boston, entitled, "The King's Daughter; and Other Poems."

Mrs. Utter is the daughter of Rev. Cazneau Palfrey, a graduate of Harvard College and a man well known in the clerical world-a recognized authority upon all matters of Biblical lore and a perfect master of the English language, as those know well who remember his beautiful sermons. Dr. Palfrey was settled for some years in Barnstable, Mass,, and in 1847 removed to Belfast, Maine, where he was the devoted and beloved pastor of the Unitarian church. The delicate state of his health rendered it necessary for him to resign his pastorate in 1870, and he was succeeded by Rev. David Utter. He afterward removed to Cambridge, Mass., and there the remainder of his life was spent.

Mrs. Utter, his second daughter, was born in Barnstable in 1844, but as the family soon removed to Belfast, her childhood and girlhood were spent in that city. The educational advantages were of course of a somewhat limited order, but she inherited a taste for letters from both sides of her family, and the cultivated atmosphere of the pleasant parsonage was always one to inspire a fondness and taste for books-and for books of the very best sort. One who remembers tenderly and fondly that bright, sunny, cheerful home, has said, "It seemed to me that nothing but peace and happiness ever prevailed there." In 1870 Mrs. Utter's poem, “The King's Daughter" (from which her volume takes its name), was published in a magazine just then established in Boston called Old and New, and edited by Rev. Edward Everett Hale. It attracted a great deal of attention from its strength and beauty and suggestiveness and was not only quoted and copied far and wide in newspapers, but not long ago became the motto and the sentiment for a beautiful charity whose great and wide-spread blessings are penetrating all over the country. Gradually her poems were written, as fancy or occasion dictated, until last year she was induced by some appreciative friends to have them collected in a volume and published. Many of them are of a sweet and serious nature, and others full of deep religious feeling. "Dwellers in Tents," and "White Underneath," are both very beautiful in their tender and serious sentiment, and there are some others which show not only the facile pen and delicate thought but a deep

My thought goes back to that first Christmas day
When the young mother in the manger lay,
Weary and pale, but full of pride and joy,
While pressing to her side her baby boy.

Ah, sister Mary, time and place are strange,
But centuries bring the mother heart no change.
We know, to whom a child is given now,
Your thoughts, while gazing on that baby brow.
The hope that filled each Jewish woman's breast
In every mother's heart is still a guest;
That through this life a glorious light may shine
Lifting the world to levels more divine.

We know not how God's poets, prophets, come;
It may be one is here, within our home.
So reverently we guide the little feet,
And wait the first uncertain accents sweet.
We ponder in our hearts their sayings wise,
Reading between the lines with mother eyes.
We see the wise men gold and incense bring,
While in our hearts the heavenly angels sing
O Mary, lying in your manger low,

The thoughts that filled your heart we also know.
Distance and time may make all else seem strange,
But mother love has never known a change.

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

THERE stood a young plant in a garden fair, Where the spring sunshine was most fair and bright.

The moist earth nourished it; the breathing air Took from its folded leaves a fragrance rare, And coming summer seemed one long delight. It felt the beauty of all outward things;

Rejoiced in sun and breeze with grateful heart. Yet thought, "My greatest joy the summer brings, When from green buds unsheathing their bright wings

The clustered blossom from my stem shall start."

It knew not that its worth and beauty lay
In the sweet perfume of its growing leaf;
And when the gardener, passing by one day,
Cut from its stem the buds, and went his way,
Its heart within it heavy grew with grief.
Then, with all patience lifting up its head,
Its mission it fulfilled unconsciously,
Once more abroad its drooping branches spread;
For, "Though I may not blossom" (so it said),
"At least my leaves shall green and perfect be.”
Daily and nightly from that still retreat

Its fragrance widened through the summer air; And the good gardener thought no wreath complete

Until a spray of leaves so wondrous sweet

Was twined among the flowers, however fair.

'T was loved and sought and prized the country through,

And one among whose bridal flowers it lay The stem from out the fading roses drew, Planted, and cared for it, until it grew

A living memory of her wedding-day.

And sometimes hearts oppressed with loss and grief

A sudden comfort from its presence drew. It seemed a message sent to them; as if There came a whisper from each rustling leaf, "Shall he not, therefore, much more care for you?" At last, when the flowers had closed their eyes, To its long rest it lay down thankfully, Thinking, "Another summer will arise; Perhaps beneath its soft and sunny skies The flower of my life I yet shall see.”

THE KING'S DAUGHTER.

SHE wears no jewels upon hand or brow;

No badge by which she may be known of men. But though she walk in plain attire now, She is a daughter of the King; and when Her Father calls her at his throne to wait, She will be clothed as doth befit her state.

Her Father sent her in his land to dwell,

Giving to her a work which must be done. And since the King loves all his people well,

Therefore, she, too, cares for them every one. Thus when she stoops to lift from want or sin, The brighter shines her royalty therein. She walks erect through dangers manifold, While many sink and fail on either hand. She dreads not summer's heat nor winter's cold, For both are subject to the King's command.