How beauteous art thou, sacred light! How sweet To view thee gushing from the golden sun, As he his morning race begins to run! Than time or thought alone, thou art less fleet— Where shall we seek thy primal dwelling-place? About His throne, who ever girt with thee, Lay on the bosom of eternity; Who lit the stars, which radiate through space— Lo! from the east in billowy tide thou flowest, Gilding the hill-tops and the heavenly spires— Empurpling ocean with a myriad fires— Great light, thou sun! o’er heaven thou proudly goest; Nor ever standest still, as once, of old, Till setting thou hast bathed all with thy molten gold. A. * * * * * UNSPOKEN. BY A. J. REQUIER. As, sometimes, the tumultuary deep Sinks to serene repose, When sunset visions o’er its bosom creep As o’er a couch of rose; So, sometimes, the bright Caspian of the soul Is sudden hushed and stilled, As with the glow of some wild hope as goal Its trancéd depths are filled. “Maid of the twilight eyes! that musest late What star breaks on thy brow With the resplendence of a Heavenly Gate, Greeting its angel now?” The humid azure of her virgin dream, Spanned from the realms above By an all-dazzling Iris! thought—trust—theme— Life-consecration—Love! Come with me to the rustic paths and see A mute scene eloquent; That rude cot, reared where the daisied lea Is with the mountain blent. A form of lovely womanhood which bends O’er a much daintier thing— Eyes fixed with something that so far transcends The strength of shattered suffering. Armed Cæsar, with his legions, dared not break Their concentration wild; Life ventured—periled on a single stake! And won:—her first born child! Come with me where the artist-hand hath wrought The crown of all its toil— The spiritual idol madly sought In the hot brain’s turmoil; Come where the monumental dead have laid Their thrice-anointed dust— Where priest and martyr, bard and sage, have paid The debt all mortals must; Come where the spells of wizard Nature wrest Sublimity from sod— Where Lohmon gleams in paradisal rest, Niagara preaches God; Come thou and learn, the inmost glow of soul Hath no terrestial token; And that, while Polar Oceans freeze and roll, It never can be spoken! * * * * * TO A DANDELION. BY ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH.