TRANSLATIONS.

Again is hushed the busy day, And all to sleep is gone away; The deer hath sought his mossy bed, The bird hath hid his little head. And man to his still chamber goes To rest from all his cares and woes. Yet steps he first before his door, To look into the night once more, With love-thanks and love-greeting, there, For rest his spirit to prepare, To see the high stars shine abroad And drink once more the breath of God. Mild Father of the world, whose love Keeps watch o'er all things from above, To Thee my stammering prayer would rise; Bend down from yonder starry skies; And from Thy sparkling, sun-strewed way, Oh teach thy feeble child to pray! All day Thou hadst me in Thy sight; So guard me, Father, through this night; And by thy dear benignity From Satan's malice shelter me; For what of evil may befall The body, is the least of all. Oh send from realms of purity The dearest angel in to me, As a peace-herald let him come, And watchman, to my house and home, That all desires and thoughts of mine, Around thy heaven may climb and twine. Then day shall part exultingly, Then night a word of love shall be, Then morn an angel-smile shall wear Whose brightness no base thing can bear, And we, earth's children, walk abroad, Children of light and sons of God. And when the last red evening-glow Shall greet these failing eyes below, When yearns my soul to wing its way To the high track of endless day, Then all the shining ones shall come To bear me to the spirit's home.

Through the city's narrow gateway Forth an aged beggar fares, None is there to give him escort, And no farewell word he bears. Heaven's grey cloud to no one whispers Of God's message in its fold; Earth's grey rock to no one whispers That it hides the shaft of gold. And the naked tree in winter Tells not straightway to the eye That it once so greenly glistened, Bloomed and bore so bounteously. None would dream that yon old beggar, Tottering, bending toward the ground, Once was clothed in royal purple, And his silver locks gold-crowned! Foul conspirators discrowned him, Tore the radiant purple off, Placing in his hands, for sceptre, Yonder wormy pilgrim-staff. Thus, for years, now, has he wandered, All ungreeted and unknown, Through so many a foreign country, Bowed and broken and alone. Weary unto death, he lays him 'Neath a tree, in evening's beam, Music in the twigs and blossoms Sings him to an endless dream. Men that to and fro pass by him, Speak in softened tones of grief; Who may be the poor old beggar, That has found this sad relief? But mild Nature, soft-eyed Nature, Knows the aged sleeper there, Obsequies of solemn splendor, Meet for king, will she prepare. From the tree fall wreaths of blossoms, Floating down to crown his head, And a sceptre's golden lustre Sunset on his staff hath shed. For a canopy above him Rustling twigs a green arch throw, And he wears a royal purple In the evening's mantling glow.