. Our Sunday book of reading and pictures . t 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 fowlers eye,Might mark thy distant flight to do thee darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seekst thou the plashy brinkOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide ?Or where the rocky billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power whose careTeaches thy way along that pathless coast,—The desert and illimitable air— Love wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fa
. Our Sunday book of reading and pictures . t 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 fowlers eye,Might mark thy distant flight to do thee darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seekst thou the plashy brinkOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide ?Or where the rocky billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power whose careTeaches thy way along that pathless coast,—The desert and illimitable air— Love wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ;Soon shalt thou find a summer home and scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend From oer thy sheltered nest. TO A WATER-FOWL. Thourt gone, the abyss of heavenHath swallowed up thy foam : yet on my heartDeeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon He who from zone to zoneGuides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone Will lead my steps aright. W, C. BRYANT. The Garden.—A garden is a beautifulbook, writ by the finger of God : every flowerand every leaf is a letter. You have only tolearn them—and he is a poor dunce thatcannot, if he will, do that—to learn them andjoin them, and then go on reading and read-ing. And you will find yourself carried awayfrom the earth h\ the Ijeautiful story you are going through. You do not know whatbeautiful thoughts grow out of the ground,and seem to talk to a man. And then thereare some flowers that seem to me like ever-dutiful children : tend them ever so little,and they come up and flourish, and show,as I may say, their bright and happy facesto VOU. DOUGLAS JERROLD. fo me ^tCyParft. Bird of the wilderness,Blithesome and cumberless^ Sweet be thy matin oer moorland and leaEmblem of happiness,Blest is thy
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Keywords: ., bo, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, booksubjectenglishliterature
