The Sabbath is here. In hope and in love,
We sow in the dust,
While humbly we trust,
Up yonder, shall grow
The seed which we sow,
And bloom a bright garland above.




TO A BUTTERFLY.

[FREE TRANSLATION FROM HERDER.]

Airy, lovely, heavenly thing!
Butterfly with quivering wing!
Hovering, in thy transient hour,
Over every bush and flower,
Feasting upon flowers and dew,
Thyself a brilliant blossom too.


Who, with rosy fingers fine,
Purpled o'er those wings of thine?
Was it some sylph whose tender care
Spangled thy robes so fine and fair,
And wove them of the morning air?
I feel thy little throbbing heart.
Thou fear'st, e'en now, death's bitter smart