The birds are hushed; alone the wind, That through the woodland searches, The red-oak's lingering leaves can find, And yellow plumes of larches. But still the balsam-breathing pine Invites no thought of sorrow, No hint of loss from air like wine The earth's content can borrow. The summer and the winter here Midway a truce are holding, A soft, consenting atmosphere Their tents of peace enfolding. The silent woods, the lonely hills, Rise solemn in their gladness; The quiet that the valley fills Is scarcely joy or sadness. How strange! The autumn yesterday In winter's grasp seemed dying; On whirling winds from skies of gray The early snow was flying. And now, while over Nature's mood There steals a soft relenting, I will not mar the present good, Forecasting or lamenting. My autumn time and Nature's hold A dreamy tryst together, And, both grown old, about us fold The golden-tissued weather. I lean my heart against the day To feel its bland caressing; I will not let it pass away Before it leaves its blessing. God's angels come not as of old The Syrian shepherds knew them; In reddening dawns, in sunset gold, And warm noon lights I view them. Nor need there is, in times like this When heaven to earth draws nearer, Of wing or song as witnesses To make their presence clearer. O stream of life, whose swifter flow Is of the end forewarning, Methinks thy sundown afterglow Seems less of night than morning! Old cares grow light; aside I lay The doubts and fears that troubled; The quiet of the happy day Within my soul is doubled. That clouds must veil this fair sunshine Not less a joy I find it; Nor less yon warm horizon line That winter lurks behind it. The mystery of the untried days I close my eyes from reading; His will be done whose darkest ways To light and life are leading! Less drear the winter night shall be, If memory cheer and hearten Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, Sweet summer of St. Martin! 1880. STORM ON LAKE ASQUAM. A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw On Carmel prophesying rain, began To lift itself o'er wooded Cardigan, Growing and blackening. Suddenly, a flaw Of chill wind menaced; then a strong blast beat Down the long valley's murmuring pines, and woke The noon-dream of the sleeping lake, and broke Its smooth steel mirror at the mountains' feet. Thunderous and vast, a fire-veined darkness swept Over the rough pine-bearded Asquam range; A wraith of tempest, wonderful and strange, From peak to peak the cloudy giant stepped. One moment, as if challenging the storm, Chocorua's tall, defiant sentinel Looked from his watch-tower; then the shadow fell, And the wild rain-drift blotted out his form. And over all the still unhidden sun, Weaving its light through slant-blown veils of rain, Smiled on the trouble, as hope smiles on pain; And, when the tumult and the strife were done,