Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie withered,

And fond ones are flown,

Oh, who would inhabit

This bleak world alone?

MUSIC, WHEN SOFT VOICES DIE.

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

"And who shall sing the glory of the deep" better than Allan Cunningham has done in this song of a sailor's love, a poet's love, for the sea?

A wet sheet and a flowing sea,

And a wind that follows fast,

And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast;

And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free,

Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee.

Oh, for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze
And white waves heaving high;

And white waves heaving high, my boys,

The good ship tight and free;
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;
And hark the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free-
While the hollow oak our palace is,
Our heritage the sea.

SONG FROM "PIPPA PASSES."

BY ROBERT BROWNING.

Robert Browning was born at Camberwell in 1812. He was educated at the London University. While his wife lived Browning spent most of his time in Florence-later he divided his time between London and Venice. He died at Venice in 1889. His poems have been collected into several volumes under the titles of "Men and Women," "Dramatis Personae," "The Ring and the Book," "Dramatic Idylls," and "Sordello."

THE WAITING.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

John Greenleaf Whittier was born in Massachusetts in 1807. He was successively the editor of the "American Manufacturer," the "Haverhill Gazette," and the "New England Weekly Review." In 1836 he went to Philadelphia to edit the "Pennsylvania Freeman," for he was an abolitionist of strong principle. He died in 1892.

I wait and watch; before my eyes

Methinks the night grows thin and gray;
I wait and watch the eastern skies
To see the golden spears uprise

Beneath the oriflamme of day!

Like one whose limbs are bound in trance
I hear the day-sounds swell and grow,
And see across the twilight glance,
Troop after troop, in swift advance,
The shining ones with plumes of snow!

I know the errand of their feet,

I know what mighty work is theirs;

I can but lift up hands unmeet

The thrashing floors of God to beat,

And speed them with unworthy prayers.

I will not dream in vain despair,

The steps of progress wait for me;
The puny leverage of a hair

The planet's impulse well may spare,
A drop of dew the tided sea.

The loss, if loss there be, is mine;
And yet not mine if understood;
For one shall grasp and one resign,
One drink life's rue, and one its wine,
And God shall make the balance good.

O, power to do! O, baffled will!

O, prayer and action! ye are one.

Who may not strive may yet fulfill

The harder task of standing still,

And good but wished with God is done!