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too;

May measure out the ocean deep-may What are ten thousand worlds compared with count

Thee ? The sands, or the sun's rays—but God! for And what am I, then! Heaven's unnumberThee

ed host, There is no weight nor measure. None can Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd mo

In all the glory of sublimest thought, Up to thy mysteries. Reason's bright spark, Is but an atom in the balance weighed Though kindled by the light, in vain Against Thy greatness—is a cypher brought would try

Against infinity. What am I, then? Naught. To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so Naught!—but the effluence of Thy light dihigh,

vine, Even like past moments in eternity.

Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom, Thou from primeval nothingness didst call

Yes; in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine, First chaos, then existence-Lord, on Thee

As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Eternity had its foundation; all

Naught! But I live, and on Hope's pinions fly Spring forth from Thee-of light, joy, har Eager toward Thy presence; for in Thee mony,

I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high; Sole origin—all life, all beauty there;

E’en to the throne of Thy divinity. Thy word created all, and doth create;

I am, O God, and surely thou must be! Thy splendor fills all space with day divine; Thou art, and wast, and shall be glorious, Thou art! directing, guiding all thou art! great!

Direct my understanding, then, to Thee; Life-giving, life-sustaining potentate.

Control my spirit, guide my wondering heart;

Though but an atom ’midst immensity, Thy chains the unmeasured universe sur

Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand! round,

I hold a middle rank, 'twixt heaven and

earth, Upheld by Thee-by Thee inspired with breath!

On the last verge of mortal being stand, Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,

Close to the realm where angels have their

birth, And beautifully mingled life and death! As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze, Just off the boundaries of the spirit land. So suns are born, so worlds spring forth

FROM THE RUSSIAN OP DERZHAVIN. from Thee; And as the spangles in the sunny rays

SOMETIME. Shine around the silver snow, the pageantry

, praise.

And sun and stars forevermore have set,

The things which our weak judgments here A million torches lighted by Thy hand

have spurned,Wander unwearied through the blue abyss; The things o'er which we grieved with They own Thy power, accomplish thy com

lashes wet mand,

Will flash before us, out of life's dark night, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.

As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue; What shall we call them? Piles of crystal And we shall see how all God's plans were light?

right, A glorious company of golden streams?

And how what seemed reproof was love Lamps of celestial ether burning bright ?

most true. Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?

And we shall see how, while we frown and But Thou to them art as the moon to night. sigh,

God's plans go on as best for you and me; Yes, as the drop of water in the sea,

How, when we called, he heeded not our cry, All this magnificence in Thee is lost;

Because his wisdom to the end could see.

Of Heaven's bright army glittersain arthy SOMETIME, when all life's lessons have

And even as wise parents disallow

And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death Too much of sweet to craving babyhood, Conceals the faircst boon his love can send. So, God, perhaps, is keeping from us now If we could push ajar the gates of life, Life's sweetest things because it seemeth And stand within, and all God's workings good.

see,

We could interpret all this doubt and strife, And if, sometimes, commingled with life's And for each mystery could find a key!

wine, We find the wormwood, and rebel and But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! shrink,

God's plans, like lilies, pure and white unBe sure a wiser hand than yours or mine

fold, Pours out this portion for our lips to drink. We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart; And if some friend we love is lying low,

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. Where human kisses cannot reach his face, And if, through patient toil, we reach the land 0, do not blame the loving Father so,

Where tired feet, with sandals loose, may But wear your sorrow with obedient grace! rest,

When we shall clearly know and understand, And you shall shortly know that lengthened I think that we will say, “God knew the breath

best!" Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend,

MAY RILEY SMITH.

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ODE TO THE CREATION. (Originally published in the Spectator (No. 465) and hence often attributed to Addison.) THE spacious firmament on high,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame, With all the blue ethereal sky,

Their great Original proclaim;

Th'unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And, nightly to the list’ning earth,
Repeats the story of her birth ;
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ?
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amid their radiant orbs be found ?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing as they shine,
“The band that made us is divine."

ANDREW MARVELL.

LIGHT.

(Extract.)
YOD said: “Let there be light !"
Grim darkness felt His might,
And fled away ;
Then startled seas, and mountains cold,
Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold,

And cried, “'Tis day, 'tis day !"
“Hail, holy light !” exclaimed
The thunderous cloud that flamed

O'er daisies white;
And lo! the rose, in crimson dressed,
Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast,

And blushing, murmured, “Light!"
Then was the skylark born;
Then rose the embattled corn;

Then floods of praise
Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon;
And then, in silent night, the moon
Poured forth her pensive lays.

EBENEZER ELLIOTT.

ALONE.

Down the dim, noiseless valley, alone, And I hear not the fall of a footstep

Around me, save God's and my own; And the hush of my heart is as holy

As Lovers where angels have flown.

Long ago was I weary of voices

Whose music my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises

That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places

Where I found but the human and sin.

I walked in the world with the worldly,

I craved what the world never gave, And I said, “In the world each ideal,

That shines like a star on life's wave, Is wrecked on the shores of the real,

And sleeps like a dream in a grave.

And still did I pine for the perfect,

And still found the false with the true ; I sought 'mid the human for heaven,

But caught a mere glimpse of its blue, And I wept when the clouds of the mortal

Veiled even that glimpse from my view.

And I toiled on, heart tired of the human,

And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men, Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar,

And I heard a voice call me; since then I walk down the valley of silence

That lies far beyond mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the valley ?

'Tis my trysting place with the d vine, And I fall at the feet of the holy,

And above me a voice said, Be mine," And there rose from the depths of my spirit

An echo, “My heart shall be thine."

Do you ask how I live in the valley ?

I weep and I dream and I pray.
But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops

That fall on the roses in May,
And my prayer, like a perfume from censers.

Ascendeth to God night and day.

In the hush of the valley of silence

I dream all the songs that I sing,
And the music floats down the dim valley

Till each finds a word for each wing. That to hearts, like the dove of the deluge,

A message of peace they may bring.

But far on the deep there are billows

That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence

That never shall float into speech, And I have had dreams in the valley

Too lofty for language to reach.

And I have seen thoughts in the valley,

Ah, me, how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces,

Their footsteps can scarcely be heard, They pass through the valley like angels,

Too pure for the touch of a word.

Do you ask me the place of the valley,

Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? It lieth afar between mountains,

And God and his angels are there, And one is the dark mount of sorrow, And one the bright mountain of prayer.

ABRAM J. RYAN.

(Father Ryan.)

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ABRAM J. RYAN.

A

ONLY A LITTLE WAY. LITTLE way-I know it is not far,

'Twas here we met, and parted company. Why should their gain be such a grief to me?

This scene of loss !

Thou heavy cross!
Dear Savior, take the burden off, I pray,
And show me Heaven is but-a little way.

These sombre robes, these saddened faces, all
The bitterness and pain of death recall.
Ah! let me turn my face where'er I may,
I see the traces of a sure decay;
And parting takes the marrow out of life.
Secure in bliss, we hold the golden chain
Which death, with scarce a warning, snaps in

twain,

And never more

Shall time restore
The broken links. 'Twas only yesterday
They vanished from our sight-a little way.

A little way! This sentence I repeat,
Hoping and longing to extract some sweet
To mingle with the bitter. From thy hand
I take the cup I cannot understand,
And in my weakness give myself to thee.
Although it seems so very, very far
To that dear home where my beloved are,

I know, I know

It is not so.
Oh! give me faith to feel it when I say
That they are gone—gone but a little way.

ANONYMOUS.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

TEREA Po softly how the head

In reverent silence bow-
No passing-bell doth toll —
Yet an immortal soul

Is passing now.

To that dear home where my beloved are,
And yet my faith grows weaker as I stand
A poor, lone pilgrim in a dreary land,
Where present pain the future bliss obscures,
And still my heart sits, like a bird upon
The empty nest, and mourns its treasures

gone;

Plumed for their flight,

And vanished quite.
Ah! me, where is the comfort—though I say
They have but journeyed on a little way!

Stranger! however great,

With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed-
One by that paltry bed-

Greater than thou.

A little way-at times they seem so near,
Their voices ever murmur at my ear;
To all my duties loving presence lend,
And with sweet ministry my steps attend,
And bring my soul the luxury of tears.

Beneath that Beggar's roof,

Lo! Death doth keep his state;
Enter—no crowds attend-
Enter—no guards defend

This palace-gate.
That pavement damp and cold

No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands

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Lifting with meagre hands

A dying head.
No mingling voices sound-

An infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed-again
That short deep gasp, and then

The parting groan.
O change-0 wondrous change ! -

Burst are the prison bars—
This moment there, so low,
So agonized, and now

Beyond the stars!
O change-stupendous change!

There lies the soulless clod !
The sun eternal breaks-
The new immortal wakes-
Wakes with his God.

CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

LIFE. MADE a posie while the day ran by; Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band; But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away,

And withered in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my

heart; I took, without more thinking, in good part,

Time's gentle admonition, Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, Making my mind to smell my fatal day,

Yet sugaring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers; sweetly your time ye

spent, Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,

And after death for cures. I follow straight without complaints or grief, Since if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. 'HEN, marshalled on the nightly plain,

The glittering host bestud the sky, One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action, But still to make thee prepossessed,

And give it his perfection.

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