(Original.)

SONNET.

REV. C. STRONG.

IN health-not rich nor meanly poor, my state
Is more than kingly-no one envies me;
For Nature's varied scenes to all are free,
And in her paths I early stray and late.
Contented stand I at another's gate,

And gaze on fruits whose sweets untasted be,
Walk 'mid his sheaves, and share the reaper's glee-
His barns are fill'd, whilst I congratulate.

I feel the LOVE that wakes each vernal flower,

That pours from secret urns the tuneful brooks, And gives to summer suns their ripening power:

Deep things I read in autumn's thoughtful looks; And when the snow falls thick in darkening shower, How bright my chamber, and what friends my books!

AUTUMN.

FRANCES BROWN.

OH! welcome to the corn-clad slope,
And to the laden tree,

Thou promised Autumn! for the hope
Of nations turn'd to thee,

Through all the hours of splendour past
With summer's bright career;
And we see thee on thy throne at last,
Crown'd monarch of the year.

Thou comest with the gorgeous flowers
That make the roses dim,

With morning mists and sunny hours,
And wild birds' harvest hymn;
Thou comest with the might of floods,
The glow of moonlight skies,
And the glory flung on fading woods
Of thousand mingled dyes.

But never seem'd thy steps so bright

On Europe's ancient shore, Since faded from the poet's sight

That golden age of yore;

For early harvest-home hath pour'd

Its gladness on the earth,

And the joy that lights the princely board Hath reach'd the peasant's hearth.

O Thou! whose silent bounty flows
To bless the sower's art,

With gifts that ever claim from us
The harvests of the heart;

If thus Thy goodness crown the year,
What shall the glory be,

When all Thy harvest whitening here
Is gather'd home to Thee!

LIFE AND DEATH.

JANE C. SIMPSON.

It is a solemn thing to live!

To feel we bear within

A perpetuity of years.

Soon as those years begin—

To know Eternal Power hath placed,
In this our mortal shrine,

An essence kindred with His own,
Mysterious and divine—

A mind, a soul, a priceless part,
With boundless wishes rife :
Ah! well bewilder'd may we start,
And ponder what is life!

It is a solemn thing to live!

To think that throned on high,

On every word, and deed, and thought, God bends His holy eye;

And marks in this the appointed term

For man to prove his way,

What doom at last shall be our own,

When earth and time decay;

Yes! every morn that dawns, each night On whose starr'd vault we look,

Adds a fresh leaf for good or ill

To Heaven's unerring book.

It is a solemn thing to live!

To feel how sin hath flung

Such deadly blight o'er souls that once
Pure from their Maker sprung:

So dark our guilt, that nought could wash
Away that crimson dye,

But uncreated Love must bear
A death of agony!

Most wonderful, most fearful truth!
Whose faith alone imparts
The hope of pardon and of peace

To self-condemning hearts.

It is a solemn thing to live!
To see how, day by day,
All that is beautiful and dear

Is passing swift away:

The accents kind, the looks of love,

The friend that shared youth's hours,

Are one by one fast gathering hence,

Cut down like autumn flowers!

What is there breathes and fadeth not?

Our time is waning too

To all that gladdens here, or grieves,
Soon must we bid adieu!