To thee, sweet one, repose was given, That thou might'st early think of heaven, That thou might'st know what love supreme Flame quenchless as the heavenly beam, William, that love which shadows thee, Is eminently mine: O that my riper life could be Deserving it as thine! The Sage of Caucasus.-HILLHOUSE. Hadad. NONE knows his lineage, age, or name: his locks Are like the snows of Caucasus ; his eyes Beam with the wisdom of collected ages. In green, unbroken years, he sees, 'tis said, The generations pass, like autumn fruits, Garnered, consumed, and springing fresh to life, The seasons roll, in rapt serenity, And high communion with celestial powers. Some say 'tis Shem, our father; some say Enoch, Tamar. I've heard a tale Like this, but ne'er believed it. Had. I have proved it.— Through perils dire, dangers most imminent, Seven days and nights midst rocks and wildernesses, Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing, Save the far-soaring vulture, comes, I dared Had. On the highest peak Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot, On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers Such awful majesty: his reverend locks His raiment glistered saintly white; his brow The Resolution of Ruth.-CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. FAREWELL? O no! it may not be ; I will not breathe farewell to thee, I know not that I now could bear I did not love, in former years, To leave thee solitary: now, When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears, And strong the furnace fires must be, I will not boast a martyr's might The weak are strong, the timid brave; For Love puts on an angel's power, And Faith grows mightier than the grave. It was not so, ere he we loved, And vainly strove with Heaven to save, When morning's tears of joy were shed, The morning echoes sweetly speak, For rays of heaven, serenely bright, On all its gathering thoughts of gloom. To that blessed land to Israel given, We'll stand within the temple's bound, But where thou goest I will go; And where thy grave is, mine shall be; Death can but for a time divide My firm and faithful heart from thee. Live for Eternity.—CARLOS WILCOX. A BRIGHT or dark eternity in view, The joys that death-beds always turn to stings! To dance along the path that always brings Our Life is like the hurrying on the eve Before we start, on some long journey bound, When fit preparing to the last we leave, Then run to every room the dwelling round, And sigh that nothing needed can be found; Yet go we must, and soon as day shall break; We snatch an hour's repose, when loud the sound For our departure calls; we rise and take A quick and sad farewell, and go ere well awake. Reared in the sunshine, blasted by the storms, What matter whether pain or pleasures fill Dedication Hymn.-PIERPONT. WITH trump, and pipe, and viol chords, Its tribute to the Lord of lords, Its homage to the King of kings. To God, who, from the rocky prison Where death had bound him, brought his Son, Creator, at whose steadfast word Here, where we hymn thy praises now, In worship and in prayer to Thee. And when our lips no more shall move, With trump, and pipe, and viol strings The Indian Summer.-BRAINARD. WHAT is there sadd'ning in the autumn leaves? Have they that "green and yellow melancholy," That the sweet poet spake of?-Had he seen Our variegated woods, when first the frost Turns into beauty all October's charmsWhen the dread fever quits us-when the storms Of the wild Equinox, with all its wet, Has left the land, as the first deluge left it, With a bright bow of many colors hung Upon the forest tops-he had not sighed. The moon stays longest for the hunter now: The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe And busy squirrel hoards his winter store: While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along |