But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty ..stood,

Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,

And the brightness of their smile has gone from upland, glade, and glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come,

To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter

home;

When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,

And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill; The south-wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,

And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream

no more.

And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died, The fair meek blossom that grew up and faded by my

side,

In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forests cast the leaf,

And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief; Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of

ours,

So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers. -William Cullen Bryant

BEAUTY

Beautiful Things

EAUTIFUL faces are those that wear

BE

It matters little if dark or fair—
Whole-souled honesty printed there.

Beautiful eyes are those that show,
Like crystal panes where heart-fires glow,
Beautiful thoughts that burn below.

Beautiful lips are those whose words
Leap from the heart like songs of birds,
Yet whose utterance prudence girds.

Beautiful hands are those that do
Work that is earnest and brave and true,
Moment by moment the long day through.

Beautiful feet are those that go

On kindly ministries to and fro

Down lowliest way, if God wills it so.

Beautiful shoulders are those that bear
Ceaseless burdens of homely care

With patient grace and daily prayer.

Beautiful lives are those that bless

Silent rivers of happiness

Whose hidden fountains but few may guess.

-Ellen P. Allerton

Beautiful

BEAUTIFUL sun that giveth us light,

Beautiful moon that shineth by night,
Beautiful planets in the heaven so far,
Beautiful twinkle of each little star.

Beautiful waters so blue and so clear,
Beautiful sound of the surges we hear,
Beautiful brooklet, its ripples so sweet,
Beautiful flowers that bloom at our feet.

Beautiful springtime when all is delight;
Beautiful summer, so warm and so bright;
Beautiful autumn, with fruits and with grain;
Beautiful winter, with snowflakes again.

BELLS

The Bells

-W. A. Bixler

HEAR

JEAR the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,

In the icy air of night!

While the stars that oversprinkle

All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!

How it dwells

On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells,-

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells

Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror now their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak

They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,

And a resolute endeavor,
Now-now to sit or never,

By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells
Of despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,

And the clanging,

How the danger ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear distinctly tells,

In the jangling,

And the wrangling,

How the danger sinks and swells,

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells

Of the bells