"Art thou happy, maiden fair, On this long, bright summer’s day, Culling flowerets so rare, Art thou happy? tell me, pray!" "If my Henry were but here, To enjoy the scene with me; He whose love is so sincere, Oh! how happy I should be!" Soon I heard her lover’s feet, Sounding on the gravel lightly, To his loving words so sweet, Tender glances answered brightly! "Art thou happy, now?" I said, Down she hung her lovely head, Henry leaves for foreign skies— Tears were in the maiden’s eyes! "Art thou happy, mother mild, On this bright, bright summer’s day, Gazing on thy cherub child, Art thou happy? tell me, pray!" "If my baby-boy were well," Thus the mother spake to me, "Gratitude my heart would swell— Oh! how happy I should be!" Then the cordial I supplied, Soon the babe restored completely; Cherub-faced and angel-eyed, On his mother smiled he sweetly! "Art thou happy, now?" I said; "Would his father were not dead!" Thus she answered me with sighs, Scalding tear-drops in her eyes! "Art thou happy, aged man, On this glorious summer’s day, With a cheek all pale and wan, Art thou happy? tell me, pray!" "If I were but safe above," Spake the old man unto me, "To enjoy my Saviour’s love, Oh! how happy I should be!" Then the angel Death came down, And he welcomed him with gladness, On his brow so pale and wan, Not a trace was seen of sadness: "Art thou happy, now?" I said; "Yes!" he answered with his head; Tears of joy were in his eyes, Dew-drops from the upper skies! FREEDOM OF THOUGHT AND THE LATEST MIRACLES.