THE WANING MOON. I've watched too late; the morn is near; One look at God's broad silent sky! Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear, How in your very strength ye die! Even while your glow is on the cheek, And scarce the high pursuit begun, The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak, The task of life is left undone. See where, upon the horizon's brim, Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars; The waning moon, all pale and dim, Goes up amid the eternal stars. Late, in a flood of tender light, She floated through the ethereal blue, A softer sun, that shone all night Upon the gathering beads of dew. And still thou wanest, pallid moon! The encroaching shadow grows apace; Heaven's everlasting watchers soon Shall see thee blotted from thy place. Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen! Well may thy sad, expiring ray Be shed on those whose eyes have seen Hope's glorious visions fade away. Shine thou for forms that once were bright, For sages in the mind's eclipse, For those whose words were spells of might, But falter now on stammering lips! In thy decaying beam there lies Full many a grave on hill and plain, Of those who closed their dying eyes In grief that they had lived in vain. Another night, and thou among The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine, All rayless in the glittering throng Whose lustre late was quenched in thine. Yet soon a new and tender light From out thy darkened orb shall beam, And broaden till it shines all night On glistening dew and glimmering stream. THE STREAM OF LIFE. Oh silvery streamlet of the fields, That flowest full and free, For thee the rains of spring return, The summer dews for thee; And when thy latest blossoms die In autumn's chilly showers, The winter fountains gush for thee, Till May brings back the flowers. Oh Stream of Life! the violet springs But once beside thy bed; But one brief summer, on thy path, The dews of heaven are shed. Thy parent fountains shrink away, And close their crystal veins, And where thy glittering current flowed The dust alone remains. THE UNKNOWN WAY. A burning sky is o'er me, The sands beneath me glow, As onward, onward, wearily, In the sultry morn I go. From the dusty path there opens, Eastward, an unknown way; Above its windings, pleasantly, The woodland branches play. A silvery brook comes stealing From the shadow of its trees, Where slender herbs of the forest stoop Before the entering breeze. Along those pleasant windings I would my journey lay, Where the shade is cool and the dew of night Is not yet dried away. Path of the flowery woodland! Oh whither dost thou lead, Wandering by grassy orchard-grounds, Or by the open mead?