The glories of the choirs of paradise.

The hills still tremble when the thunders cease
Of the loud diapason,--and again
Through the rapt stillness steals the hymn of peace;
Melodious and sweet its far refrain
Dying in distance, as the shadows die
Of white wings vanished up the morning sky,
As farther still--and thinner--more remote--
A film of sound, the aerial voices float--
Peace and good will, good will and peace to men!




MY GARDEN


Only the commonest flowers
Grow in my garden small,
Like buttercups, and bouncing-bets,
And hollyhocks by the wall,
And sunflowers nodding their stately heads,
Like grenadiers so tall.
But the purple pansy grows beneath--
The sweetest flower of all--

And tiny feathery filmy ferns
You scarce can see at all,
Fleck the shady side of the stones,