A CITY LYRIC. 
The birdie ceased its happy song, 
I heard its notes no more; 
The water rippled silently 
To the blue lake’s quiet shore: 
But a mother sang her cradle hymn: 
“ All hallowed be your rest, 
And Angels watch the shining heads 
That leaned on Jesus’ breast !” 
a City Kyrie, 

T. Westwood. 
7\{ LD the crowds I needs must linger, 
Aye, and labor day by day,— 
But I send my thoughts to wander, 
And my fancies far away. 
Tn the flesh ’'m cloud encompassed, 
Through the gloom my path doth lie ;— 
In the spirit, by cool water, 
Under sunny skies am I. 
Do not pity me, my brother— 
I can see your fountains play; 
I can see your streams meander, 
Flashing in the golden ray. 


