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JUNE. 



And one, with cup all crimson dyed, 



Spoke of a Saviour crucified : 



And rich the store of holy thought 



That little forest-flower brought. 



Doctrine and miracle, whate'er 



We draw from books was treasured there. > 



Faith in the wild-wood's tangled bound 



A blessed heritage had found ; 



And Charity and Hope were seen 



In the lone isle and wild ravine. 



Then pilgrims in the forest brown 



Slow wandering on from town to town, 



Halting 'mid mosses green and dank, 



Breathed each a prayer before they drank 



From waters by the pathway side. 



Then duly morn and even-tide, 



Before those ancient crosses gray, 



Now mouldering silently away, 



Aged and young devoutly bent 



In simple prayer, how eloquent ! 



For each good gift man then possessed 



Demanded blessing and was blest. 



What though in our pride's selfish mood, 

 We hold those times as dark and rude, 

 Yet give we, from our wealth of mind, 

 Feeling more grateful or refined ! 

 And yield we unto nature aught 

 Of loftier, or of holier thought, 

 Than they, who gave sublimest power 

 To the small spring and simple flower 1 



M. H. 



