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Night of Mid-June, in heavy vapours dying, Like priestly hands thy holy touch is lying Upon the world's wide brow; God-like and grand all nature is commanding The "peace that passes human understanding"; I, also, feel it now.

What matters it to-night, if one life treasure I covet, is not mine! Am I to measure The gifts of Heaven's decree By my desires? O! life for ever longing For some far gift, where many gifts are thronging, God wills, it may not be.

Am I to learn that longing, lifted higher, Perhaps will catch the gleam of sacred fire That shows my cross is gold? That underneath this cross—however lowly, A jewel rests, white, beautiful and holy, Whose worth can not be told.

Like to a scene I watched one day in wonder:— A city, great and powerful, lay under A sky of grey and gold; The sun outbreaking in his farewell hour, Was scattering afar a yellow shower Of light, that aureoled