TRUE LOVES CALL.

BY MISS ANNA MARIA PORTER
 The morning is breaking, The sky lark awaking The bright dews are shaking

 From blade and from bush The light mists are failing, Ger meadows exhaling And wonder star paling

 At dawn's rosy flush: Yn warmth aud dew seethings The rich earth IS breathing; And moist flowers are wreathing === s1:.:;i;,: sss; < ;s,..:.:ts.z t.tsee.= Hark. nearest thou not ringing The wild wood with singing, When glad birds are springing From bank and from tree! With summer air blending, Thy easement ascending, Sw eet woodbines are lending Their soft calls to mine: 0 dearest, awake thee! ! wait but to take thee, Where all things viii make thee A banquet and shrine. Then, every sense filling With ecstasies thrilling, Earth feast may be willing To hold us in thrall; But spirits adoring The hand that outpouring, Soon, soen will be soaring

 To Ila that gives all.