'God gives me one hour's rest, 

To spend with thee on earth again:

How shall we spend it best?'

'Why, as of old,' I said; and so

We quarrell'd, as of old:

But, when I turn'd to make my peace,

That one short hour was told.

Stephen Phillips.

Stephen Phillips.

[30]

[30]

hou who hast follow'd far with eyes of love

The shy and virgin sights of Spring to-day, 

Sad soul, what dost thou in this happy grove?

Hast thou no pipe to touch, no strain to play,

Where Nature smiles so fair and seems to ask a lay?

Ah! she needs none! she is too beautiful.

How should I sing her? for my heart would tire,

Seeking a lovelier verse each time to cull,

In striving still to pitch my music higher:

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