FAREWELL OF THE SOUL TO THE Or lure from Heaven my wavering cree, - Well hast thou in my service wrought; That strikes thy clasping nerves from Thy brow hath mirrored forth my me? thought, Oh, quit thy hold, For thou art faint, and chill, and cold, And long thy gasp and groan of pain Have bound me pitying in thy chain, Though angels urge me hence to soar, Where I shall share thine ills no more. Yet we shall meet. To soothe thy pain Remember we shall meet again. Quell with this hope the victor's sting, And keep it as a signet-ring, When the dire worm shall pierce thy breast, And nought but ashes mark thy rest, When stars shall fall, and skies grow dark, And proud suns quench their glowworm spark, Keep thou that hope, to light thy gloom, Till the last trumpet rends the tomb. Then shalt thou glorious rise, and fair, Nor spot, nor stain, nor wrinkle bear, BENEVOLENCE. WHOSE is the gold that glitters in the mine? And whose the silver? Are they not the Lord's? Aro! the cattle on a thousand hills, And the broad earth with all her gushing springs Are they not His who made them? Ye who hold Slight tenantry therein, and call your lands By your own names, and lock your gathered gold From him who in his bleeding Saviour's name Doth ask a part, whose shall those riches be When, like the grass-blade from the autumn frost, Ye fall away? Point out to me the forms That in your treasure-chambers shall enact Glad mastership, and revel where you toiled Sleepless and stern. Strange faces are they all. man! whose wrinkling labor is for heirs Thou knowest not who, thou in thy mouldering bed, Unkenned, unchronicled of them, shall sleep; Nor will they thank thee, that thou didst bereave Thy soul of good for them. Now, thou mayest give The famished food, the prisoner liberty, Light to the darkened mind, to the lost soul A place in heaven. thou art Take thou the Speck as Upon earth's surface, gloriously exult To be co-worker with the King of kings. THE CORAL INSECT. TOIL on! toil on! ye ephemeral train, Who build on the tossing and treacherous main; Toil on! for the wisdom of man ye mock, With your sand-based structures, and domes of rock; Your columns the fathomless fountains lave, And your arches spring up through Ye bind the deep with your secret zone. The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone; Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring, Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king: Of pines, and by the side of purling streams That prattle all their secrets in their dreams, Unconscious of a listener,-unafraid; Thy soul shall feel their freshening, and the truth Of nature then, reviving in thy heart, Shall bring thee the best feelings of thy youth, When in all natural joys thy joy had part, Ere lucre and the narrowing toils of trade Had turned thee to the thing thou wast not made. RECOMPENSE. NOT profitless the game, even when we lose, Nor wanting in reward the thankless toil; The wild adventure that the man pursues, Requites him, though he gather not the spoil: Strength follows labor, and its exercise Brings independence, fearlessness of ill, Courage and pride,-all attributes we prize; Though their fruits fail, not the less precious still. Though fame withholds the trophy of desire, And men deny, and the impatient throng Grow heedless, and the strains protracted, tire;— Not wholly vain the minstrel and the song, If, striving to arouse one heavenly tone In others' hearts, it wakens up his own. And this, methinks, were no unseem- And, from the conscious virtue in the ly boast, In him who thus records the expe rience breast. To trembling nature gives both strength and will! By stormy summons. He hath naught beyond For consolation, if that these be lost; And rather will he hear of fortune crossed, Plans baffled, hopes denied,― than take a tone Resentful, with a quick and keen reply To hasty passion and impatient eye, Such as by noblest natures may be shown, When the mood vexes! Friendship is a seed Needs tendance. You must keep it free from weed, Nor, if the tree has sometimes bitter fruit, Must you for this lay axe unto the root. |