The courteous master hears, and thus replies: Celestial odors breathe through purpled air, The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do. Warned by a bell, and close the hour with Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends, prayer. At length the world, renewed by calm repose, O strange return! grew black, and gasped, And in a calm his settling temper ends; In sweet memorial rise before the Throne; And force an angel down to calm thy mind; Then know the truth of government divine, Horror of horrors: what, his only son! How looked our hermit when the fact was Nay, cease to kneel-thy fellow-servant I. done! Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder And let these scruples be no longer thine. part, The Maker justly claims that world he made; And breathe blue fire, could more assault his In this the right of Providence is laid; heart. Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed; His steps the youth pursues; the country lay A river crossed the path; the passage o'er The youth, who seemed to watch a time to Its secret majesty through all depends The Power exerts his attributes on high, Than those which lately struck thy wonder- Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust. Approached the careless guide, and thrust The great, vain man, who fared on costly him in; Plunging, he falls, and rising, lifts his head, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. While sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries: "Detested wretch!" But scarce his speech began, man; food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good, Has with the cup the graceless custom lost, When the strange partner seemed no longer Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor, With him I left the cup, to teach his mind That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. His youthful face seemed more serenely sweet, His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet, Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair, Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. Child of his age, for him he lived in pain, And what a fund of charity would fail! Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, THOMAS PARNELL. "I'm bound for Heaven, and when I'm there Then down to the river a Quaker strayed, Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his chin, And staidly, solemnly waded in, And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down tight O'er his forehead, so cold and white. But a strong wind carried away his hat; Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of psalms, And hymns as many, a very wise thing, But I thought he heaved an anxious sigh And after him with his MSS., Come Wesley, the pattern of Godliness, And there on the river far and wide, And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, Without the manuscripts, up to the throne. Then gravely walking, two saints by name, How she longed to pass to the other side, I watched them long in my curious dream, "Sprinkled or plunged? may I ask you, But all the brethren were talking yet, friend, How you attain to life's great end? "And I really think it will hardly do, As I'm close communion,' to cross with you; Then straightway plunging with all his might And now, when the river was rolling on, But the men I could count as they passed And concerning the road they could never The Old or the New way, which it could be, And a sound of murmuring long and loud, Or, "I'm in the old way and you're in the That is the false, and this is the true." But the brethren only seemed to speak, And would talk on, till the heaving tide MISSIONARY HYMN. ROM Greenland's icy mountains, From many a palmy plain, Their land from error's chain. What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, The gifts of God are strewn, Bows down to wood and stone. Shall we whose souls are lighted The lamp of life deny? The joyful sound proclaim, IKE flakes of snow that fall unperceived upon the earth, the seemingly unimportant AT THE LAST. FEEL in myself the future life. I am like a forest which has been more than once cut down. The new shoots are stronger and livelier than ever. I am rising, I know, toward the sky. The sunshine is on my head. The earth gives me its generous sap, but Heaven lights me with the reflection of unknown worlds. You say the soul is nothing but the resultant of bodily powers. Why, then, is my soul the most luminous when my bodily powers begin to fail? Winter is on my head and eternal Spring is in my heart. Then I breathe, at this hour, the fragrance of the lilacs, the violets and the roses, as at twenty years. The nearer I approach the end the plainer I hear around me the immortal symphonies of the worlds which invite me. It is marvelous, yet simple. It is a fairy tale, and it is history. For half a century I have been writing my thoughts in prose, verse, history, philosophy, drama, romance, tradition, satire, ode, song-I have tried all. But I feel that I have not said the thousandth part of what is in me. When I go down to the grave I can say, like so many others, "I have finished my day's work;" but I cannot say, "I have finished my life." My day's work will begin again the next morning. The tomb is not a blind alley; it is a thoroughfare. It closes in the twilight to open with the dawn. I improve every hour, because I love this world as my fatherland; because the truth compels me as it compelled Voltaire, that human divinity. My work is only a beginning. My monument is hardly above its foundation. I would be glad to see it mounting and mounting forever. The thirst for the infinite proves infinity. |