The sweet flowers, bathed in pearly dew,
  Half veil’d their glowing charms from view
    And drooped their lowly heads;
  While out, upon the evening air,
  A grateful incense, rich and rare,
    Stole up from their low beds.

  The green trees seemed to tower on high,
  And mingle with the deep blue sky;
    While in the moon’s soft light,
  The noiseless shadows came and went,
  Waver’d and glanced, and graceful bent,
    Like champions in fight.

  There was a little, fragrant bower,
  That nature, in some sportive hour,
    Had gracefully arrayed;
  And overgrown with creeping vines,
  Their tendrils with the green bows twined,
    Formed an imperious shade.

  As near this fairy bower I drew,
  An object met my startled view,
    Entrancing all my powers;
  A fair young girl was kneeling there,
  Her white hands clasped in fervent prayer,—­
    Her dark hair wreathed with flowers.

  Meekly her eyes to heav’n were turned,
  While in her trusting heart there burned
    The fire of holy love;
  So fair, so heavenly, looked her face,
  Less seemed she one of mortal race,
    Than angel from above.

  It was a lovely, starry night,
  And softly in the silver light,
    Did flickering shadows fall;
  And bright the flowers that blossomed there;
  But the incense of that maiden’s prayer,
    Was purer, far, than all.

  The sweetest sight below the skies,—­
  And sweetest in holy angels’ eyes,
    Is the young heart, when given,
  With all its hopes and fears,—­
  Its sunny smiles and gushing tears,
    An offering unto Heaven.

To a Friend

  Oh, wherefore ask a song of me;
    Romance within my heart is dead;
  Hush’d is my spirit’s minstrelsy,
    Youth’s golden visions all have fled.

  Life’s rainbow hues have pass’d away,
    With clearer vision now I see;
  And I more deeply feel each day,
    That life’s a stern reality.

  It is no dream, or fairy tale,
    Or minstrel’s strain of music rare;
  But ever foremost in its train,
    Walk duty stern, and weary care.

  We may not linger by the way,
   To pluck the lily or the rose,
  Too soon will pass the summer day,
   And evening shadows round us close.

  Yet there’s within each heart a chord
    That vibrates with a music tone;
  Duty performed brings its reward,
    We live not for ourselves alone.

  Life has a higher, nobler aim,
    A destiny beyond earth’s toys;
  A richer heritage we claim,
    A title to celestial joys.

  Then upward look, with firm resolve,
    Thy spirit’s precious plume to rise;
  What though thine earthly house dissolve;
    Thou hast a mansion in the skies.