In September.

—Elizabeth Cole.

—Sunday Afternoon.

MORNINGS frosty grow, and cold,
Brown the grass on hill and wold;
Crows are cawing sharp and clear
When the rustling corn grows sere;
Mustering flocks of blackbirds call,
Here and there a few leaves fall,
In the meadows larks sing sweet,
Chirps the cricket at our feet,
In September.

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Sabbath Evening.

—Frederic Mellen.

LIST! there is music in the air:
It is the sabbath evening bell,
Chiming the vesper hour of prayer,
O’er the mountain top and lowland dell.
And infancy and age are seen,
Slow winding o’er the church-yard green.

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Sabbath Evening.

—George Denison Prentice.

HOW calmly sinks the parting sun!

Yet twilight lingers still;

And beautiful as dream of heaven

It slumbers on the hill;

Earth sleeps, with all her glorious things,

Beneath the Holy Spirit’s wings,

And, rendering back the hues above,

Seems resting in a trance of love.

 

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