Rain in Summer.

But now the fair traveller's come to the west,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best,
He paints the sky gay as he sinks to his rest,
And foretells a bright rising again.

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Just such is the Christian! his course he begins
Like the sun in a mist, when he mourns for his sins,
And melts into tears; then he breaks out and shines,
And travels his heavenly way :

But when he comes nearer to finish his race,

Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a sure hope at the end of his days,
Of rising in brighter array.

WATTS.

RAIN IN SUMMER.

OW beautiful is the rain!

After the dust and heat,

In the broad and fiery street,

In the narrow lane,

How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,

Like the tramp of hoofs !

How it gushes and and struggles out

From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window pane

It pours and pours;

And swift and wide,

With a muddy tide,

Like a river down the gutter roars

The rain, the welcome rain!

The sick man from his chamber looks

At the twisted brooks;

He can feel the cool

Breath of each little pool;

His fevered brain

Grows calm again,

And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

From the neighbouring school

Come the boys,

With more than their wonted noise

And commotion;

And down the wet streets

Sail their mimic fleets,

Till the treacherous pool

Engulfs them in its whirling

And turbulent ocean.

In the country, on every side,

Where far and wide,

Like a leopard's tawny and spotted hide,

Stretches the plain,

To the dry grass and the drier grain

How welcome is the rain!

In the furrowed land

The toilsome and patient oxen stand;

Lifting the yoke-encumbered head,

With their dilated nostrils spread,

They silently inhale

The clover-scented gale,

And the vapours that arise

From the well watered and smoking soil.

For this rest in the furrow after toil

Rain in Summer.

Their large and lustrous eyes
Seem to thank the Lord,

More than man's spoken word.

Near at hand,

From under the sheltering trees,

The farmer sees

His pastures, and his fields of grain,

As they bend their tops

To the numberless beating drops

Of the incessant rain.

He counts it as no sin

That he sees therein

Only his own thrift and gain.

These, and far more than these,

The poet sees!

He can behold

Aquarius old

Walking the fenceless fields of air;

And from each ample fold

Of the clouds about him rolled,

Scattering everywhere

The showery rain,

As the farmer scatters his grain.

He can behold

Things manifold,

That have not yet been wholly told,-
Have not been wholly sung nor said.
For his thought, that never stops,

Follows the water-drops

Down to the graves of the dead,

Down through chasms and gulfs profound,
To the dreary fountain head

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Of lakes and rivers under ground;

And sees them, when the rain is done,
On the bridge of colours seven
Climbing up once more to heaven,
Opposite the setting sun.

Thus the Seer,

With vision clear,

Sees forms appear and disappear,

In the perpetual round of strange,

Mysterious change

From birth to death, from death to birth,

From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth;

Till glimpses more sublime

Of things, unseen before,

Unto his wondering eyes reveal

The universe, as an immeasurable wheel

Turning for evermore

In the rapid and rushing river of time.

LONGFELLOW.

BIRDS IN SUMMER.

OW pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;

In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open to the bright blue sky,

And the frolicsome winds, as they wander by!

They have left their nests in the forest bough,
Those homes of delight they need not now;

Birds in Summer.

And the young and old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about;
And, hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How, one to the other, they lovingly call;—
"Come up, come up!" they seem to say,
"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"

"Come up, come up, for the world is fair,

Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!"

And the birds below give back the cry,

"We come, we come to the branches high!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,

Living in love in a leafy tree,

And away through the air what joy to go,

And to look on the green bright earth below!

How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,

And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne

By a strong free wing, through a rosy morn,

To meet the young sun, face to face,

And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space!

To pass through the bowers of the silvery cloud,
And to sing in the thunder-halls aloud;
To spread out the wings for a wild free flight
With the upper cloud-winds,-oh, what delight!
Oh, what would I give, like a bird to go

Right on through the arch of the sunlit bow,
And to see how the water-drops are kissed
Into green, and yellow, and amethyst !

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