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And I have seen thoughts in the valley, 'Twas here we met, and parted company.

Ah, me, how my spirit was stirred ! Why should their gain be such a grief to me? And they wear holy veils on their faces,

This scene of loss ! Their footsteps can scarcely be heard,

Thou heavy cross! They pass through the valley like angels, Dear Savior, take the burden off, I pray, Too pure for the touch of a word.

And show me Heaven is but-a little way. Do you ask me the place of the valley, These sombre robes, these saddened faces, all

Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? The bitterness and pain of death recall. It lieth afar between mountains,

Ah! let me turn my face where'er I may, And God and his angels are there,

I see the traces of a sure decay; And one is the dark mount of sorrow,

And parting takes the marrow out of life. And one the bright mountain of prayer. Secure in bliss, we hold the golden chain

ABRAM J. Ryan. Which death, with scarce a warning, snaps in (Father Ryan.)

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.

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ABRAM J. RYAN.

A

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

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!
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.

THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.
DREAD softly—bow the head-

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

Is passing now.
Stranger ! however great,

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

Greater than thou.
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

Lifting with meagre hands

From every host, from every gem;
A dying head.

But one alone the Savior speaks,

It is the Star of Bethlehem.
No mingling voices sound-
An infant wail alone;

Once on the raging seas I rode,
A sob suppressed-again

The storm was loud—the night was dark; That short deep gasp, and then

The ocean yawned—and rudely blowed
The parting groan.

The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze, O change-O wondrous change

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; Burst are the prison bars

When suddenly a star arose,
This moment there, so low,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.
So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars!

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease, O change-stupendous change!

And through the storm and danger's thrall There lies the soulless clod !

It led me to the port of peace. The sun eternal breaks

Now safely moored—my perils o’er,
The new immortal wakes-

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
Wakes with his God.

Forever and for evermore,
CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES SOUTHEY. The Star—the Star of Bethlehem.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

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.

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

And what I do in anything

To do it as for thee.
Not rudely, as a beast,

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

And give it his perfection.

One star alone, of all the train,

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

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“ For he is hideous as the night;

And when has ever chose
A nightingale, for its delight,

A hueless, scentless rose ?"

Tbe Caliph then: “ No features fair

Nor comely mein are his ;
Love is the beauty he doth wear,

And love his glory is.

“ Once, when a camel of my train

There fell in narrow street, From broken basket rolled amain

Rich pearls before my feet.

“I, nodding to my slaves, that I

Would freely give them these, At once upon the spoil they fly,

The costly boon to seize.

“One only at my side remained ;

Beside this Ethiop, none;
He, moveless as the steed he reined,

Behind me sat alone.

6 • What will thy gain, good fellow, be,

Thus lingering at my side?' • My king, that I shall faithfully

Have guarded thee,' he cried.

“ True servant's title he may wear,

He only, who has not
For his lord's gifts, how rich soe'er,

His lord himself forgot."

So thou alone dost walk before

Thy God with perfect aim, From him desiring nothing more

Beside himself to claim.

For if thou not to him aspire,

But to his gifts alone,
Not love, but covetous desire

Has brought thee to his throne.

While such thy prayer, it mounts above

In vain; the golden key
Of God's rich treasure-house of love
Thine own will never be.

RICHARD CHEVENIX TRENCH.

MANS MEDLEY DARK, how the birds do sing, He wears & stuff whose thread is coarse and 19. And woods do ring!

round,
All creatures have their joy, and man hath But trimmed with curious lace,
his.

And should take place
Yet, if we rightly measure,

After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter than in present is.

Not that he may not here

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To this life, things of sense

Taste of the cheer;
Make their pretense ;

But as birds drink, and straight lift up the In th' other, angels have a right by birth;

head,
Man ties them both alone,

So must he sip and think
And makes them one,

Of better drink
With one hand touching heaven, with th' He may attain to, after he is dead.
other earth.

But as his joys are double,
In soul he mounts and flies,

So is his trouble;
In flesh he dies.

He hath two winters, other things but one;

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TO

Both thoughts and frosts do nip

Could he but take them right, and in their And bite his lip;

ways. And he of all things fears two deaths alone.

Happy is he whose heart

Has found the art
Yet even the greatest grieis

To turn his double pains to double praise.
May be reliefs,

GEORGE HERBERT.

HABIT. on the vicious ways of the world it mercifully falleth out that we become not extempore

wicked, but it taketh some time and pains to undo ourselves. We fall not from virtue, like Vulcan, in a day. Bad dispositions require some time to grow into bad habits; bad habits must undermine good, and often repeated acts make us habitually evil.

SIR THOMAS BROWNE. BENEVOLENCE. "E who does good to one person from a benevolent principle, lays an obligation on the

whole species, for' he shows that he has the interest of mankind at heart, and he sets a good example. Our love of good men, therefore, partakes of the nature of gratitude; to be destitute of it is a proof of such depravity as even profligates would be ashamed of.

JAMES BEATTIE. Am rayop

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