My father read this Holy Book How calm was my poor mother's look, What thronging memories come! Thou truest friend man ever knew, Where all were false I found thee true, The mines of earth no treasures give In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. G. P. MORRIS. ON GUARD. AT midnight, on my lonely beat, Of one at home that prays for me. No roses bloom upon her cheek— Her form is not a lover's dreamBut on her face, so fair and meek, A host of holier beauties gleam. For softly shines her silver hair, She prays for one that's far away, Till, though the leagues lie far between, So guarding thus my lonely beat, ANON. TRUST IN GOD, AND DO THE RIGHT. Let the road be rough and dreary, Perish policy and cunning! Perish all that fears the light! Trust no party, sect, or faction; 66 'Trust in God, and do the right." Trust no lovely forms of passion,-- Simple rule, and safest guiding, "Trust in God, and do the right." Some will hate thee, some will love thee, REV. N. MACLEOD. THE LAST DAY. GREAT God, what do I see and hear! The Judge of mankind doth appear, The trumpet sounds-the graves restore The dead in Christ shall first arise, On those prepared to meet Him. But sinners filled with guilty fears And sighs are unavailing: The day of grace is past and gone— Great God, what do I see and hear! The end of things created! The Judge of mankind doth appear, On clouds of glory seated! Low at His cross I'll view the day When heaven and earth shall pass away, And thus prepare to meet Him. LUTHER. THE HOUR OF DEATH. LEAVES have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! Day is for mortal care; Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth; Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer; But all for thee, thou Mightiest of the Earth! The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for Grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine! Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! We know when moons shall wane, When Summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When Autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain'; But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when Spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home; And the world calls us forth-and thou art there. Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the North-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! HEMANS. |