With a bearing meekly grateful, slow approach the sacred feast,
  And, with penitential gladness, take, by faith, this Eucharist. 
  Hark! how sweetly, o’er it stealing, come the sounds of pardoning love! 
  Winning back to paths of virtue all who now in error rove. 
  Here is food for all who languish, and for those who, fainting, thirst—­
  Free, from Christ, the Living Fountain, crystal waters ceaseless burst! 
  Come, ye sad and weary-hearted, bending ’neath a weight of woe—­
  Here the Comforter is waiting his rich blessings to bestow! 
  None need linger—­all are bidden to this “Supper of the Lamb:” 
  Come, and by this outward token, worship God, the great “I AM!”

* * * *

MARRIAGE

              “One sacred oath hath tied
      Our loves; one destiny our life shall guide;
      Nor wild nor deep our common way divide!”

Choral voices float around us, music on the night air swells;
Hill and dell resound with echoes of the gleeful wedding bells! 
Ushered thus, we haste to enter on a scene of radiant joy—­
List’ning vows in ardor plighted, which alone can death destroy. 
Passing fair the bride appeareth, in her robes of snowy white,
While the veil around her streameth, like a silvery halo’s light;
And amid her hair’s rich braidings rests the pearly orange bough,
With its fragrant blossoms pressing on her pure, unclouded brow. 
Love’s devotion yields the future with young Hope’s resplendent beam;
And her spirit thrills with rapture, yielding to its blissful dream!

* * * *

DEATH.

“Death, thou art infinite!”
“All that live must die,
Passing through nature to Eternity.”

Now we chant a miserere which proclaims the end of man—­
Telling, in prophetic language, “Life," at best, “is but a span!"
Scarcely treading, slowly enter, reverently bend the knee—­
List the Spirit’s inward whisper, and from worldly thoughts be free. 
Here we view a weary pilgrim, cradled in a dreamless sleep;
Human sounds no more shall reach her, for its spell is “long and deep!”
Gaze upon the marble features!  Mark how peacefully they rest! 
Anguished thought, and sorrow’s heavings, all are parted from that
breast! 
Soon on mother earth reposing, this cold form shall calmly lie,
Till, by God’s dread trump awakened, it shall mount to realms on high.

* * * * *

FOUR SONNETS TO THE FOUR SEASONS.

BY MARY SPENSER PEASE.

(See Plate.)

SPRING.