No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us, And flowers bloomed round our feet,-- While many a bud of joy before us Unclosed its petals sweet,-- An unseen work within was plying; Like honey-seeking bee, From flower to flower, unwearied, flying, Laboured one faculty,-- Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow, Its gloom and scarcity; Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow, Toiled quiet Memory. 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure Extracts a lasting good; 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure To serve for winter's food. And when Youth's summer day is vanished, And Age brings Winter's stress, Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished, Life's evening hours will bless. THE MISSIONARY. Plough, vessel, plough the British main, Seek the free ocean's wider plain; Leave English scenes and English skies, Unbind, dissever English ties; Bear me to climes remote and strange, Where altered life, fast-following change, Hot action, never-ceasing toil, Shall stir, turn, dig, the spirit's soil; Fresh roots shall plant, fresh seed shall sow, Till a new garden there shall grow, Cleared of the weeds that fill it now,-- Mere human love, mere selfish yearning, Which, cherished, would arrest me yet. I grasp the plough, there's no returning, Let me, then, struggle to forget. But England's shores are yet in view, And England's skies of tender blue Are arched above her guardian sea. I cannot yet Remembrance flee; I must again, then, firmly face That task of anguish, to retrace. Wedded to home--I home forsake; Fearful of change--I changes make; Too fond of ease--I plunge in toil; Lover of calm--I seek turmoil: Nature and hostile Destiny Stir in my heart a conflict wild; And long and fierce the war will be Ere duty both has reconciled. What other tie yet holds me fast To the divorced, abandoned past? Smouldering, on my heart's altar lies The fire of some great sacrifice, Not yet half quenched. The sacred steel But lately struck my carnal will, My life-long hope, first joy and last, What I loved well, and clung to fast; What I wished wildly to retain, What I renounced with soul-felt pain; What--when I saw it, axe-struck, perish-- Left me no joy on earth to cherish; A man bereft--yet sternly now I do confirm that Jephtha vow: Shall I retract, or fear, or flee? Did Christ, when rose the fatal tree Before him, on Mount Calvary? 'Twas a long fight, hard fought, but won, And what I did was justly done.