A humming-bird once o'er a trumpet-flower hung, And darted that sharp little member, the tongue, At once through the tube to its cell for the sweet It felt, at the bottom, most certain to meet. But, finding that some other child of the air, To rifle the store, had already been there, And no drop of honey for her to draw up, Her vengeance was poured on the destitute cup. She flew in a passion that heightened her power, And, cuffing and shaking the innocent flower, Its tender corolla in shred after shred She hastily stripped, then she snapped off its head. A delicate ruin on earth as it lay, That bright little fury went humming away, With gossamer softness, and fair to the eye, Like some living brilliant just dropped from the sky. And since, when that curious bird I behold Arrayed in rich colors, and dusted with gold, I cannot but think of the wrath and the spite, She has in reserve, though they 're kept out of sight. These two-footed, beautiful, passionate things, If plumeless or plumy, without or with wings, Should go to the glass, or the painter, and sit When anger is just at the height of its fit. THE SABBATH. Day of days, the dearest, best, Hallowed by Jehovah's rest! When his six-days' work was done, Holy rose the seventh sun. When creation's pillars stood, And the Lord pronounced them good, Morning stars together sang-- Heaven with Sabbath praises rang. Earth in pristine beauty shone, Like a gem, before his throne, While he marked thee, as his claim-- And he sealed thee with his name. Choice of God, thou blessed day! At thy dawn the grave gave way To the power of him within, Who had, sinless, bled for sin. Thine the radiance to illume First, for man, the dismal tomb, When its bars their weakness owned, There revealing death dethroned. Then the Sun of righteousness Rose, a darkened world to bless, Bringing up from mortal night, Immortality and light. Day of glory! day of power! Sacred be thine ev'ry hour! Emblem, earnest of the rest That remaineth for the blest! When at last it shall appear How they loved and kept thee here, To a temple in the skies, Fair, eternal, they shall rise. Not a sigh of grief or care Shall mingle with their praises there; Then their sweet reward shall be An eternity of thee. THE DEPARTING SPIRIT. Hush! let the sigh in escaping be stopped: Be the dim chamber all silently trod! Let not the tear, that is rounded, be dropt! Oh! 't is a spirit returning to God! Angels are softly untwining the strings, Loosing its ties to the beautiful clay; Lo! they have lifted their hovering wings: Joyous they waft her in triumph away!