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For mysteries—and this is human pride!
There is a gentler element, and man
May breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul,
And drink its living waters till his heart
Is pure—and this is human happiness!
Its secret and its evidence are writ
In the broad book of nature. 'Tis to have
Attentive and believing faculties;
To go abroad rejoicing in the joy
Of beautiful and well created things;
To love the voice of waters, and the sheen
Of silver fountains leaping to the sea;
To thrill with the rich melody of birds,
Living their life of music; to be glad
In the gay sunshine, reverent in the storm;
To see a beauty in the stirring leaf,
And find calm thoughts beneath the whispering tree;
To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence
Of God's deep wisdom in the natural world!
It is to linger on the magic face
Of human beauty,' and from light and shade
Alike to draw a lesson ; 'tis to love
The cadences of voices that are tuned
By majesty and purity of thought;
To gaze on woman's beauty, as a star
Whose purity and distance make it fair;
And in the gush of music to be still,
And feel that it has purified the heart!
It is to love all virtue for itself,
All nature for its breathing evidence ;
And, when the eye hath seen, and when the ear
Hath drunk the beautiful harmony of the world,
It is to humble the imperfect mind,
And lean the broken spirit upon God!

Thus would I, at this parting hour, be true
To the great moral of a passing world.
Thus would I-like a just departing child,
Who lingers on the threshold of his home-
Remember the best lesson of the lips
Whose accents shall be with us now, no more!
It is the gift of sorrow to be pure;
And I would press the lesson ; that, when life
Hath half become a weariness, and hope
Thirsts for serener waters, Go abroad

Upon the paths of nature, and, when all
Its voices whisper, and its silent things
Are breathing the deep beauty of the world,
Kneel at its simple altar, and the God
Who hath the living waters shall be there !


" The calm retreat, the silent shade,

With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by Thy sweet bounty made

For those who follow Thee.

“There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean abode,
0, with what peace, and joy, and love,

She communes with her God.

“ There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays,
Nor asks a witness to her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.”


I LOVE to steal awhile away

From every cumbering care,
And spend the hours of setting day

In humble, grateful prayer.

I love in solitude to shed

The penitential tear,
And all His promises to plead,

Where none but God can hear.

I love to think on mercies past,

And future good implore,
And all my sighs and sorrows cast

On him whom I adore.

I love by faith to take a view

Of brighter scenes in heaven;
Such prospects oft my strength renew,

While here by tempests driven.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,

May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,

And lead to endless day.

To the River Arve.-TALISMAN.

Not from the sands or cloven rocks,

Thou rapid Arve, thy waters flow; Nor earth, within its bosom, locks

Thy dark, unfathomed wells below. Thy springs are in the cloud, thy stream

Begins to move and murmur first Where ice-peaks feel the noonday beam,

Or rain-storms on the glacier burst.

Born where the thunder, and the blast,

And morning's earliest light are born, Thou rushest, swoln, and loud, and fast,

By these low homes, as if in scorn: Yet humbler springs yield purer waves,

And brighter, glassier streams than thine, Sent up from earth's unlighted caves,

With heaven's own beam and image shine. Yet stay; for here are flowers and trees;

Warm rays on cottage roofs are here, And laugh of girls, and hum of bees:

Here linger till thy waves are clear. Thou heedest not; thou hastest on;.

From steep to steep thy torrent falls, Till, mingling with the mighty Rhone,

It rests beneath Geneva's walls.

Rush on; but were there one with me

That loved me, I would light my hearth Here, where with God's own majesty

Are touched the features of the earth. By these old peaks, white, high, and vast,

Still rising as the tempests beat, Here would I dwell, and sleep, at last,

Among the blossoms at their feet.

The Burial.-ANONYMOUS.

“We therefore commit his body to the ground."-Burial Service.

The earth has fallen cold and deep

Above his narrow bier;
No wintry winds can break his sleep,

No thunders reach his ear.

The mourner's parting steps are gone,

Gone the last echoing sound;
And night's dark shadows, stealing on,

Spread solemn gloom around.
And he whose heart was wont to glow

With joy, when hastening home,
Here must he lie, cold, silent, now,

And mouldering in the tomb,
Till time itself, and days, and years,

Shall all have passed away ;
In that cold heart, no hopes nor fears

Shall hold their dubious sway.

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Though deep the slumbers of the tomb,

Though dark that bed of clay,
Yet shall he wake, and leave that gloom,

For everlasting day.

On the Loss of a pious Friend.-BRAINARD.

Imitated from the 57th chapter of Isaiah.

Who shall weep when the righteous die ?

Who shall mourn when the good depart? When the soul of the godly away shall fly,

Who shall lay the loss to heart?

He has gone into peace; he has laid him down

To sleep till the dawn of a brighter day ; And he shall wake on that holy morn,

When sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

But ye, who worship in sin and shame

Your idol gods, whate'er they be,-
Who scoff in your pride at your Maker's name,

By the pebbly stream and the shady tree,-
Hope in your mountains, and hope in your streams,

Bow down in their worship, and loudly pray ; Trust in your strength, and believe in your dreams,

But the wind shall carry them all away. There's one who drank at a purer fountain,

One who was washed in a purer flood : He shall inherit a holier mountain,

He shall worship a holier Lord.

But the sinner shall utterly fail and die,

Whelmed in the waves of a troubled sea; And God, from his throne of light on high, Shall

say, “ There is no peace for thee."


HEARD'st thou that dying moan of gasping breath,
The shriek of agony, despair and death?
Prone from his lofty station in the skies,
The lost adventurer falls, no more to rise;
Vain boast of earthly nature, that hath striven
To rival, in his flight, the lords of heaven!

Long o'ér the azure air he winged his way,
And tracked the pure ethereal light of day,
On floating clouds of amber radiance hung,
And on the fragrant breeze his pinions flung;
But ah! forgetful that the blaze of noon
Would sweep his daring frame to earth too soon,
Spurning his sire, he rose sublime on high,
Lost in the radiance of the solar sky :-
The melting wax proclaims his sad defeat;
He fades before the intolerable heat.

* This piece, which was first published in the Port-Folio, was written, we believe, by Rev. J. W. Eastburn.- Ed

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