All unmoved our heads can rest,

On the streamlets shallow breast:

Lady, how can we be dry,

If the Lord our need supply?"
Favour'd flowret, from my heart

Never the lesson part,

may

Ne'er shall threat'ning waves of woe,

O'er the humble Christian flow;

God can bid the storm be still,
Or impart the needful skill;
In confiding strength to ride,
Buoyant on the furious tide.

CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

Never shall the streams of grace
Fail, in their appointed place,
While relying on his word,

Man undoubting trusts the Lord.

THE BEE-Orchis.

Romantic freak of nature, this;

The bard, in lighter mind,
A moral metamorphosis,

In thee might haply find.

I'd fancy that a vagrant bee,

Some sunny hour of spring,

Pale three-leaf'd flower! had lit on thee,

And staid his idle wing.

Upon thy honey all intent,
He pierc'd thy little cup;

And pierc'd again, as if he meant
To suck, and suck thee up;

When fearing for a favourite flower,

The sylph of the parterre,

Lifted her little wand of power,

And fix'd the rifler there.

Sad monument, for ever fixed !

The serious muse shall deem,

(E'en with the garden may be mix'd A sad and serious theme.)

The soul that fixes upon earth
Unsatisfied desires,

Forgetful of its heavenly birth,

And what that birth inspires;