Some angels sailed far, where the cloud-waves grew dark, In boats that were graceful as gondolier’s barque, And those I tho’t sailing far over the seas To watch over missions and little Burmese; Then others swept down, where the glory-crowned trees Hid them on the stairs, but I knew from that band Some went to each household, all over the land, Where children would whisper “I lay me to sleep, Send angels dear Father, my spirit to keep Thro’ midnight and darkness, to guard me from harm, To give me sweet dreams, and to shield from alarm— To watch me till morning dawns, rosy and warm, Or, dying before, let them bear me above To the bosom of Jesus, on pinions of love.” * * * * * These memories float in on the fragrance to night, While sunset is veiling in glory the light, And seasons, repeating in cyclical rune, Bring forward in beauty, rose-garlanded June; All earth seems an altar with flowers o’erstrewn— ’Tis Nature’s thank offering—my heart is in tune With her grand _De Profundis_, now rolling in praise; Send angels, dear Father, a grown-up child prays, And a rose-wreathed June for my sunset of days. Goldenrod. O, Goldenrod, bright goldenrod! It fringes all the wayside hedges, And makes the forest mantle rich With lovely tasseled edges. It lights with sunshine of its own Each dark, neglected dingle, And links itself with memories of The cheery, old-time ingle. Despite the summer’s burning drought, It blooms profuse and bright as ever, And where spring fountains rippled forth With laughter to the river, It kisses now their parching lips To woo their music mellow, And wreaths our dying flowers with An aureole of yellow. It gaily lifts its nodding plumes Above decay’s inceptive traces, And hides beneath its cloth-of-gold The season’s fading graces. Bright goldenrod! ’tis autumn’s crown And summer’s sunset glory— Each blooming-time is new with joy As Love’s old charming story. An Evening in June. Glory won ’gainst beauty’s brush in painting sunset skies, But paling now, upon the hills in rosy languor lies: All breathing life, with her, seems panting for a cooling breeze, For winds have stopped ’mid ocean isles, to toss the gleaming spray And spicy odors rich, along the golden path of day; And motionless, awaiting Beauty’s Star, stand all the trees, While Erse, from her stores, besprinkles earth with gems, From mantling robes of green, to flower-broidered hems. But mortals, restless aye, will burden all life’s golden hours With low complainings, forgetting bounty’s blessing showers, Impatient, beg the _one_ withheld for other days and needs, Nor see the plan inwoven, that the world’s wide hunger feeds; Nor ken the flashes on the sultry air, above the plain, Are the wings of ripening angels, sweeping o’er the grain. Yosemite.