THE SUMMER MORN.

BY N. P. WILLIS.
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 Throw up the window! Iris a morn for life In it's most subtle luxury. The mir ] Is hke breathing from Q rarer world; . And the South wind seems lIqu6--i: 'erstcals My bosom and my brow 30 bathingly. It has come oyer gardens, and the HOwers That kissed it are betrayed; for as it parts, With it's invisible fingers, my loose haIr, know It has been tTiflng to the rose, ,. And siOOping to the. violet. There lS joy For all Gods creatures in it. The wet leaves Are stirring ar its touch, and birds are singing, As if to breathe wofe music |; and the grass | Sends up its modest OdOuF with tue dew, Like the small tribute of humility.

 Lovely indeed is morning! have drank It's fragrance and it's freshness, aud have felt E It's delIcate touch; and 'ls kindlier thing , Than music. or . feast. or medicine. had awoke from an unpleasant dream, And light was welcome to me. looked out To feel the common air, and when the breath " the delicious morning met nay brow, Cooling it's fever, and the pleasant sun Shone on familiar objects, it was like H1 The feeling of the captive who comes forth H From darkness to the cheerful light of day. Oh! could we wake from sorrow were it, all A troubled dream like this 10 cast aside '' % Lake an untimely garment with the morn; , a Could the long fever of the heart be cooled By the sweet breath from naturei or tue gloom W hereaved affection pass away t..,.s With looking on the lively tints Of dowers~- How lightly were the spirit reconciled .s To make this beautiful, bright world it's home!