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118 CAROLINE GILMAN. "HE FOR GOD ONLY, SHE FOR GOD IN HIM." WHEN Pleasure gilds thy passing hours, And Hope enwreaths her fairy flowers, And Love appears with playful hand To steal from Time his falling sand, Oh, then I'll smile with thee. When nature's beauties bless thy sight, And yield a thrill of soft delight ; When morning glories greet thy gaze, Or veiling twilight still delays, Then I'll admire with thee. When far-clustering stars unroll Their banner'd lights from pole to pole, Or when the moon glide queenly by, Looking in silence on thine eye, I'll gaze on Heaven with thee. When music with her unsought lay Awakes the household holiday, Or Sabbath notes in concert strong Lift up the sacred wings of song, I'll sing those strains with thee. But should misfortune hovering nigh Wrest from thy aching heart a sigh, Or, with an aspect chill and drear, Despondence draw the unbidden tear, Oh, then, I'll weep with thee. Should poverty with withering hand Wave o'er thy head his care-wrought wand, And ope within thy soul the void That haunts a mind with hopes destroy'd I'll share that pang with thee. CAROLINE GILMAN. 119 When youth and youthful pleasures fly, And earth is fading on thine eye, When life has lost its early charm, And all thy wish is holy calm, I'll love that calm with thee. And when unerring death, at last, Comes rushing on time's fatal blast, And naught (not e'en my love) can save Thy form from the encroaching grave, I'll share that grave with thee. And when thy spirit soars above, Wrapt in the foldings of God's love, Is it too much to ask of Heaven, That some low seat may there be given, Where I can bow near thee? MY GARDEN. My garden fresh and beautiful! - the spell of frost is o'er, And earth sends out its varied leaves, a rich and lavish store ; My heart too breaks its wintry chain, with stem and leaf and flower, And glows in hope and happiness amid the spring-tide hour. 'Tis sunset in my garden - the flowers and buds have caught Bright revelations from the skies in wondrous changes wrought ; And as the twilight hastens on, a spiritual calm Seems resting on the quiet leaves which evening dews embalm.. 'Tis moonlight in my garden ; like some fair babe at rest, The day-flower folds its silky wings upon its pulseless breast ; Nor is it vain philosophy to think that plants may keep A holiday of airy dreams beneath their graceful sleep. 11