What sacred reminiscences dost thou Awake within the breast, O olive-tree! First did the silver-pinioned dove from thee Pluck the sweet “Peace-branch”—it an olive-bough. Fair evergreen! thoughts pure, devout, sublime, Thou callest up, reminding us of Him, The Man of Sorrows—Lord of Cherubim— Who, erewhile, did, in distant Orient clime, ’Neath thy dark, solemn shade, once weep and pray In woful agony; though now, above, Seated on sapphire throne—the God of Love— While round his head the covenant sign alway Unfolds its rich and ever-living green, Memento of Gethsemane’s affecting scene. * * * * * [Illustration: THE WAY TO CHURCH. Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine by T. McGoffin] * * * * * SIN NO MORE. BY R. T. CONRAD. “Sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon thee.” Art thou young, yet hast not given Dewy bud and bloom to Heaven? Tarryest till life’s morn be o’er! Pause, or ere the bolt be driven! Sin no more! Art thou aged? Seek’st thou power? Rank or gold—of dust the dower! Fame to wreathe thy wrinkles hoar? Dotard! death hangs o’er thy hour! Sin no more! Art thou blest? False joys caress thee: And the world’s embraces press thee To its hot heart’s cankered core: Waken! Heaven alone can bless thee. Sin no more! Art thou wretched? Hath each morrow Sown its sin to reap its sorrow! Turn to Heaven—repent—adore: Hope new light from Faith can borrow; Sin no more! May a meek and rapt devotion Fill thy heart, as waves the ocean, Glassing Heaven from shore to shore! Then wilt thou—calmed each emotion— Sin no more. * * * * * WORDSWORTH. BY JAMES T. FIELDS. The grass hung wet on Rydal banks, The golden day with pearls adorning, When side by side with him we walked To meet midway the summer morning. The west wind took a softer breath, The sun himself seemed brighter shining, As through the porch the minstrel slept— His eye sweet Nature’s look enshrining.