Poor Rosalie, with look forlorn, Is seen descending slow.
But when the gray morn tints the sky, And lights that lofty peak,- With a strange lustre in her eye, A fever in her cheek,-
Again she goes, untired, to sit, And watch, the live-long day; Nor, till the star of eve is lit, E'er turns her steps away.
To a young Invalid, condemned, by accidental Lameness, to perpetual Confinement.-HENRY PICKERING.
"And must he make
That heart a grave, and in it bury deep Its young and beautiful feelings?"
THINE is the spring of life, dear boy, And thine should be its flowers; Thine, too, should be the voice of joy, To hasten on the hours:
And thou, with cheek of rosiest hue, With winged feet, shouldst still Thy sometime frolic course pursue O'er lawn and breezy hill.
Not so! What means this foolish heart,
And verse as idly vain ?
Each hath his own allotted part
Of pleasure and of pain:
And while thou canst the hours beguile,
(Thus patiently reclined,)
I would not quench that languid smile, Or see thee less resigned.
Some are condemned to roam the earth, A various fate to share,
Scarce destined, from their very birth. To know a parent's care.
To thee, sweet one, repose was given, Yet not without alloy;
That thou might'st early think of heaven, The promised seat of joy ;-
That thou might'st know what love supreme Pervades a mother's breast-
Flame quenchless as the heavenly beam, The purest and the best.- 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, Again to perish, while he views the sun,
The seasons roll, in rapt serenity,
And high communion with celestial powers.
Some say 'tis Shem, our father; some say Enoch, And some Melchisedek.
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, And boreal snows, and never-thawing ice,
Where not a bird, a beast, a living thing,
Save the far-soaring vulture, comes, I dared My desperate way, resolved to know, or perish. Tam. Rash, rash advent'rer!
Had. On the highest peak
Of stormy Caucasus, there blooms a spot,
On which perpetual sunbeams play, where flowers And verdure never die; and there he dwells.
Such awful majesty: his reverend locks Hung like a silver mantle to his feet; His raiment glistered saintly white; his brow Rose like the gate of Paradise; his mouth Was musical as its bright guardians' songs.
The Resolution of Ruth.-CHRISTIAN EXAMINER, FAREWELL? O no! it may not be; My firm resolve is heard on high:
I will not breathe farewell to thee, Save only in my dving sigh.
I know not that I now could bear For ever from thy side to part, And live without a friend to share The treasured sadness of my heart.
I did not love in former years,
To leave thee solitary: now,
When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears, And shades the beauty of thy brow, I'll share the trial and the pain;
And strong the furnace fires must be, To melt away the willing chain, That binds a daughter's heart to thee.
I will not boast a martyr's might To leave my home without a sigh- The dwelling of my past delight, The shelter where I hoped to die. In such a duty, such an hour,
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, Heard the low call of Death, and moved With holy calmness to the grave, Just at that brightest hour of youth When life spread out before us lay, And charmed us with its tones of truth, And colors radiant as the day.
When morning's tears of joy were shed, Or nature's evening incense rose, We thought upon the grave with dread, And shuddered at its dark repose. But all is altered now: of death
The morning echoes sweetly speak, And, like my loved one's dying breath, The evening breezes fan my cheek.
For rays of heaven, serenely bright, Have gilt the caverns of the tomb; And I can ponder, with delight,
On all its gathering thoughts of gloom. Then, mother, let us haste away
To that blessed land to Israel given, Where Faith, unsaddened by decay, Dwells nearest to its native heaven.
We'll stand within the temple's bound, In courts by kings and prophets trod; We'll bless with tears the sacred ground, And there be earnest with our God, Where peace and praise for ever reign, And glorious anthems duly flow, Till seraphs lean to catch the strain Of heaven's devotions here below
But where thou goest I will go; With thine my earthly lot is cast; In pain and pleasure, joy and wo, Will I attend thee to the last. That hour shall find me by thy side;
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, With all its fixed, unutterable things, What madness in the living to pursue, As their chief portion, with the speed of wings,
The joys that death-beds always turn to stings! Infatuated man, on earth's smooth waste
To dance along the path that always brings Quick to an end, from which with tenfold haste Back would he gladly fly till all should be retraced!
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, Of changing time, scarce asking why or whence, Men come and go like vegetable forms,
Though heaven appoints for them a work immense, Demanding constant thought and zeal intense, Awaked by hopes and fears that leave no room For rest to mortals in the dread suspense, While yet they know not i beyond the tomb A long, long life of bliss or wo shall be their doom.
What matter whether pain or pleasures fill The swelling heart one little moment here? From both alike how vain is every thrill, While an untried eternity is near! Think not of rest, fond man, in life's career; The joys and grief that meet thee, dash aside Like bubbles, and thy bark right onward steer Through calm and tempest, till it cross the tide, Shoot into port in triumph, or serenely glide.
Dedication Hymn.-PIERPOnt.
WITH trump, and pipe, and viol chords, And song, the full assembly brings
Its tribute to the Lord of lords,
Its homage to the King of kings.
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