O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved sleep.

6. His dews drop mutely on the hill;
His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap:
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,

He giveth His beloved sleep.

7. Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man
Confirmed in such a rest to keep;
But angels say,-and through the word.
I think their happy smile is heard,—
"He giveth His beloved sleep."

8. For me, my heart, that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would child-like on His love repose

Who giveth His beloved sleep.

9. And, friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, "Not a tear must o'er her fall:
He giveth His beloved sleep."

DEFINITIONS.-5. Dělv'ed, dug. 6. Müte'ly, silently. 7. Seăn, to examine with care. 8. Erst, formerly. Mum'mers, players who make diversion in disguise.

33. THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN.

1. Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years?

They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.

The young lambs are bleating in the meadows;
The young birds are chirping in their nest;
The young fawns are playing with the shadows;
The young flowers are blowing toward the west;
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly,-

They are weeping in the play-time of the others,
In the country of the free.

2. Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking

Death in life as best to have.

They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,
With a cerement from the grave.

Go out, children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do;
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty,
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through.
But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?

Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine.

3. "For oh," say the children, "we are weary,
And we cannot run or leap:

If we cared for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep;

Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping;
We fall upon our faces, trying to go ;
And underneath our heavy eyelids drooping
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow;
For all day we drag our burden tiring

Through the coal-dark underground,
Or all day we drive the wheels of iron,
In the factories, round and round.

4. "For all day the wheels are droning, turning,—
Their wind comes in our faces,—

Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in their places;

Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling;
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall;
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,-
All are turning, all the day, and we with all.
And all day the iron wheels are droning,

And sometimes we could pray,

"O ye wheels,'-breaking out in a mad moaning,— 'Stop! be silent for to-day!"

5. Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth;

Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth;

Let them feel that this cold metallic motion

Is not all the life God fashions or reveals;
Let them prove their living souls against the notion

That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!

Still all day the iron wheels go onward,

Grinding life down from its mark;

And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

DEFINITIONS.-2. Çēre'ment, cere- or waxed cloth anciently used in embalming. 4. Drōn ́ing, making a humming sound. 5. Wreath’ing, twining together.

34. THE CHILD OF EARTH.

MRS. CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON was born in 1808; she was the granddaughter of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. In her seventeenth year she wrote the Sorrows of Rosalie, a pathetic poem descriptive of village life. In 1827 she was married to the Honorable George Chapple Norton; this marriage was dissolved in 1840. The Undying One, The Dream, and Other Poems, The Child of the Islands, and Stuart of Dunleith: A Romance, are some of her best-known works. A writer in the Quarterly Review speaks of her as the Byron of modern poetesses," and remarks that "she has much of the intense personal passion that distinguishes the poetry of Byron, but she is not an imitator: the similarity is merely a natural parallel." She died in 1877.

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1. FAINTER her slow step falls from day to day :

Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow;
Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say,
"I am content to die, but, oh, not now!
Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe ;
Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing;

Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe.
Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping brow :
I am content to die, but, oh, not now!"

2. The spring hath ripened into summer-time :
The season's viewless boundary is past;

The glorious sun hath reached its burning prime:
Oh, must this glimpse of beauty be the last?
"Let me not perish while o'er land and sea,
With silent steps, the lord of light moves on;

Not while the murmur of the mountain-bee
Greets my dull ear with music in its tone.
Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow :
I am content to die, but, oh, not now!"

3. Summer is gone, and autumn's soberer hues

Tint the ripe fruits and gild the waving corn;
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,
Shouts the halloo, and winds his eager horn.
"Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze
On the broad meadows and the quiet stream,
To watch in silence while the evening rays

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam. Cooler the breezes play around my brow:

I am content to die, but, oh, not now!"

4. The bleak wind whistles; snow-showers far and near
Drift without echo to the whitening ground;
Autumn hath passed away, and, cold and drear,
Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound;
Yet still that prayer ascends: "Oh, laughingly

My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd; Our home-fire blazes broad and bright and high,

And the roof rings with voices light and loud.
Spare me awhile; raise up my drooping brow:
I am content to die, but, oh, not now!"

5. The spring is come again, the joyful spring;

Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread ; The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing:

The child of earth is numbered with the dead.

Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,

Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane;