If one train of thinking be more desirable than another, it is that which regards the phenomena of Nature with a constant reference to a Supreme Intelligent Author.

THE Wise

PALEY.

Read nature like the manuscript of heaven,
And call the flowers its poetry. Go out,
Ye spirits of habitual unrest,

And read it, when "the fever of the world"
Hath made your hearts impatient; and if life
Hath yet one spring unpoison'd, it will be
Like a beguiling music to its flow.

N. P. WILLIS.

BIRD'S-FOOT.

DID you ever see the Bird's-foot
When growing on the sand,.
A pretty little spreading plant,
Scarce larger than your hand?

Did you e'er see its whitish flowers,
All striped and tinged with red;
Attended by a light green leaf,
And gather'd in a head?

Did

you e'er see the leaves themselves,
Of little leaflets made?

Or pluck its curved and jointed fruit?-
If so, you've been repaid.

If not, go search the commons round, 'Tis delicate and fair,

And though so often call'd a weed,

It well deserves your care.

MISS TWAMLEY.

THE sublime poetry of Holy Writ is so full of imagery derived from nature, that we can scarcely look abroad over the face of the earth, without being reminded of some of its comparisons. The fowl of the air, the lamb of the fold, the corn ready for the sickle, the flower of the field, the morning cloud, the early dew, the green pastures, the still waters,-all bring to the religious mind some emblem of beauty, some subject of contemplation.

A. PRATT.

WHEN youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh,
And every flower the summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye;
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,
And all things bright and fair are Thine!

T. MOORE.

MELIE GRASS.

A BLADE of grass, a simple flower,
Cull'd from the dewy lea,

These, these shall speak with touching power

Of "change and death" to me.

For if "stars teach as well as shine,"

Not less these gems of earth,

In budding bloom and pale decline,

May pour instruction forth.

Come then, and ever when I stray,
Breathe still the solemn cry,

"Man and his glory, what are they?
Fragile as grass, or flow'ret gay,
Which blossoms but to die."

MORAL OF FLOWERS.

Is it not desirable to call the soul from the feverish agitation of worldly pursuits, to the contemplation of Divine Wisdom in the beautiful economy of Nature? Is it not a privilege to walk with God in the garden of creation, and hold converse with His providence? If such elevated feelings do not lead to the study of Nature, it cannot be far pursued without rewarding the student by exciting them.

SIR J. SMITH.

By the breath of flowers,

Thou callest us from city throngs, and bidst
The lilies of the field with placid smile,
Reprove man's feverish strivings, and infuse
Through his worn soul a more unworldly life
With their soft holy breath.

MRS. HEMANS.