A day of storms!--But, at its latest close, _Beyond_ the cloud, comes forth the glowing sun, Kissing the waves to dimples, one by one, O'er which our homeward bark serenely goes. The blue expanse with tremulous lustre glows, As the warm hues of evening fade to dun; And the still twilight hour comes softly down, Like blessed, eyelids, for the day's repose. And thus _our_ day!--The heavy clouds rolled past, The dark eclipse of doubt and fear is o'er; The tides of life flow calmly as before, And love's pure tranquil moon shines clear at last. Oh, may this hour of beauty and of rest Bring peace undreaming to thy troubled breast. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. BY S. A. H. I saw a noble bark upon the angry main-- The foamy billows pressed upon her track; Now high, now low, I saw her timbers strain, As forth she bounded o'er the waters black. But ever, as a deeper plunge she gave, Phosphoric brightness gleamed along the wave: And thus, I said, wide o'er Life's stormy sea, Glances the light of Faith, so pure and free. I marked a threatening cloud hang o'er the western sky, And throw its blackness o'er the landscape fair, Whence lightnings flashed, whence pealed the thunder high, And wide re-echoed through the trembling air. The sun broke forth, and all its dark array Was gilded with the hues of parting day: And thus, I said, can Hope's bright rays illume, And richly paint the darkest days of gloom. I saw, at twilight eve, a snowy flower-- It closed its leaves and drooped its tender bud; Cold came the dew, and blightingly the shower Swept o'er the plant in swift destructive flood. But, bending o'er its tender charge its leaves,[20] Bows the strong branch, and needed shelter gives: And thus, I said, does Charity descend, And proves to every drooping one a friend. [Footnote 20: The tamarind plant, which closes its leaves over its young fruit and flowers.] CASTLE-BUILDING. BY JAMES T. MITCHELL. At twilight, when the deepening shades Of humid night are closing fast, When o'er bright fields and green arcades The dazzling beams of gold are cast, Another day its weary round Of mingled joys and pains has run, And clouds, with golden fringes bound, In beauty veil the setting sun,-- A silence, pleasing, calm, profound, Falls soothing on the raptured brain; The hum of busy life is drowned, On crowded street and lonely plain; The soul, in dreamy reveries lost, To shadowy realms far distant roves, In stormy waves of ether tost, Then wandering wild in heavenly groves.