L'amour ne suffit pas au bonheur; les richesses y font aussi beaucoup de cas, et parfois sans les richesses, l'amour ne produit que la misère. C'est grand dommage, mais c'est vrai.--_Madame de Beaumarchais._ Alas! alas, that poverty's cold hand Should come to wither young affection's flowers-- Marring the fairy pictures hope has planned Of love and joy in future happy hours-- Alas, that all the blessings fancy showers O'er the young heart, should turn to grief and tears, Poisoning the cup of life through all our after-years! A moment's pleasure and an age of pain-- One hour of sunshine, and the rest all gloom-- And this, oh Love, is what from thee we gain-- Of all who bow before thee, this the doom-- And in thy footsteps, like the dread Zamoom, Pale sorrow comes, a longer-dwelling guest, To curse the wasted heart that once by thee was blest. JOSHUA COMMANDING THE SUN AND MOON TO STAND STILL. BY J. B. VANSCHAICK. The day rose clear on Gibeon. Her high towers Flash'd the red sun-beams gloriously back, And the wind-driven banners, and the steel Of her ten thousand spears caught dazzlingly The sun, and on the fortresses of rock Play'd a soft glow, that as a mockery seem'd To the stern men who girded by its light. Beth-Horon in the distance slept, and breath Was pleasant in the vale of Ajalon, Where armed heels trod carelessly the sweet Wild spices, and the trees of gum were shook By the rude armour on their branches hung. Suddenly in the camp without the walls Rose a deep murmur, and the men of war Gather'd around their kings, and "Joshua! From Gilgal, Joshua!" was whisper'd low, As with a secret fear, and then, at once, With the abruptness of a dream, he stood Upon the rock before them. Calmly then Raised he his helm, and with his temples bare And hands uplifted to the sky, he pray'd;-- "God of this people, hear! and let the sun Stand upon Gibeon, still; and let the moon Rest in the vale of Ajalon!" He ceased-- And lo! the moon sits motionless, and earth Stands on her axis indolent. The sun Pours the unmoving column of his rays In undiminish'd heat; the hours stand still; The shade hath stopp'd upon the dial's face; The clouds and vapours that at night are wont To gather and enshroud the lower earth, Are struggling with strange rays, breaking them up, Scattering the misty phalanx like a wand, Glancing o'er mountain tops, and shining down In broken masses on the astonish'd plains. The fever'd cattle group in wondering herds; The weary birds go to their leafy nests, But find no darkness there, and wander forth On feeble, fluttering wing, to find a rest; The parch'd, baked earth, undamp'd by usual dews, Has gaped and crack'd, and heat, dry, mid-day heat, Comes like a drunkard's breath upon the heart. On with thy armies, Joshua! The Lord God of Sabaoth is the avenger now!