In Haven

No more shrill whistling "mid the spars ;
No black masts reeling 'inong thrt >tars
Point to them as they g < and Lonie,
We labouring o'er tiie waste of foam.

I waken to a glorious dawn,
Calm floating through unruffled morn
In a sweet breathing wooded bay
Upon a rosy sea of day.

'Tis no ideal vision we raise
In Fancy's faery coloured blaze ;
Nor faint flame kindled as we breathe
On ashes of the Past in death.

Though men aver but spirit gleam
Of Hope and Memory ma> redeem
Life's pain and life's m motoiiy,
We taste joy's essence ere we die !

Your mind's high vision may be rare,
Your soul's dreamed mistress passing fair ;
Yet, brothers, are they something pale :
Perchance those simple girl-flowers that veil

Their fragrant loveliness in shade
Oi taller growths from careles-> iread
And skyward gazers might unfold
A life of God's ideal mould —

Fresh from his hand in bounty sown
On this our earth : life sacred own ;
Its mysteries ; and most its love :
We witness, darling, as we prove !