WOODS IN WINTER.

WHEN winter winds are piercing chill,
And through the hawthorn blows the gale

With solemn feet I tread the hill,

That overbrows the lonely vale.

O'er the bare upland, and away

Through the long reach of desert woods The embracing sunbeams chastely play, And gladden these deep solitudes.

Where, twisted round the barren oak,
The summer vine in beauty clung,
And summer winds the stillness broke.
The crystal icicle is hung.

Where, from their frozen urns, mute springs

Pour out the river's gradual tide, Shrilly the skater's iron rings,

And voices fill the woodland side.

Alas! how changed from the fair scene, When birds sang out their mellow lay, And winds were soft, and woods were green And the song ceased not with the day.

But still wild music is abroad,

Pale, desert woods! within your crowd; And gathering winds, in hoarse accord, Amid the vocal reeds pipe loud.

Chill airs and wintry winds! my ear
Has grown familiar with your song;

I hear it in the opening year,—
I listen, and it cheers me long.

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HYMN OF THE MORAVIAN NUNS OF BETHLEHEM

AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER.

WHEN the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head;
And the nser burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung

The blood-red banner, that with prayer

Had been consecrated there.

And the nun's sweet hymn was heard the while

Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.