In silence blooms the Summer rose,
With damask cheek and odorous breath,
And ne'er a ruddy leaf that blows
Whispers of canker or of death:
But sweetly smiles the lovely flower
All through the sunshine warm and gay,
And tells not of the canker-dower
That eats its inmost heart away.
In gladness rolls the river bright
Down through the meadow grassy-green,
With ripples full of laughing light
That wake with joy the sunny scene.
From morn till morn, with cheery tread,
The stream walks on with ne'er a sigh,
Nor tells of pebbles hard and dead
That deep below the surface lie.
"I WILL."
It is Christmas Eve, and the dance is o'er:
"Good night--good night all round!"
And the red light streams through the open door,
Like a sprite on the snowy ground.
And faces peer down the glowing dell
From the cottage warm and bright,
To see the last of the village belle
Who stands in the pale moonlight.
And waving her hand with a last farewell,
Is lost from their yearning sight.
But not alone is that maiden fair
Of the pearl-white face and the golden hair.
"Thou knowest I love thee, Blanche," he said,
Who walked by the maiden's side,
And her cheeks flushed up with a sweeter red
When he asked her to be his bride.
Though humble, their love was pure as light--
As pure as the snow they trod;
And the peal from the belfry woke the night
Like a voice from the Throne of God:
Or plaudits of angels glad with delight
At their Maker's approving nod.
Through a manly bosom it sent a thrill,
For it came with the bells did the girl's "I will."