"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN."

Oн, deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenour keep;
The Power who pities man, has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again
The lids that overflow with tears;
And weary hours of wo and pain
Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide, an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain,

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere,
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,
Though with a pierced and broken heart,

And spurned of men, he goes to die.

For God has marked each sorrowing day

And numbered every secret tear,
And heaven's long age of bliss shall pay
For all his children suffer here.

THE SKIES.

Ay! gloriously thou standest there,
Beautiful, boundless firmament!
That swelling wide o'er earth and air,
And round the horizon bent,

With thy bright vault, and sapphire wall,
Dost overhang and circle all.

Far, far below thee, tall old trees
Arise, and piles built up of old,
And hills, whose ancient summits freeze,
In the fierce light and cold.

The eagle soars his utmost height,

Yet far thou stretchest o'er his flight.

Thou hast thy frowns-with thee on high,
The storm has made his airy seat,
Beyond that soft blue curtain lie

His stores of hail and sleet.

Thence the consuming lightnings break.

There the strong hurricanes awake.

Yet art thou prodigal of smiles-

Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern: Earth sends, from all her thousand isles,

A shout at thy return.

The glory that comes down from thee,
Bathes, in deep joy, the land and sea.

The sun, the gorgeous sun, is thine,

The pomp that brings and shuts the day,
The clouds that round him change and shine,
The airs that fan his way.

Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there
The meek moon walks the silent air.

The sunny Italy may boast

The beauteous tints that flush her skies,
And lovely, round the Grecian coast,

May thy blue pillars rise.

I only know how fair they stand,
Around my own beloved land.

And they are fair—a charm is theirs,

That earth, the proud green earth, has not—

With all the forms, and hues, and airs,

That haunt her sweetest spot.

We gaze upon thy calm pure sphere,
And read of Heaven's eternal year.

Oh, when, am the throng of men,
The heart grows sick of hollow mirth,
How willingly we turn us then
Away from this cold earth,
And look into thy azure breast,

For seats of innocence and rest.

THE JOURNEY OF LIFE.

BENEATH the waning moon I walk at night,
And muse on human life-for all around
Are dim uncertain shapes that cheat the sight,

And pitfalls lurk in shade along the ground,

And broken gleams of brightness, here and there, Glance through, and leave unwarmed the death-like air.

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The trampled earth returns a sound of fear--
A hollow sound, as if I walked on tombs ;
And lights, that tell of cheerful homes, appear,
Far off, and die like hope amid the glooms.
A mournful wind across the landscape flies,
And the wide atmosphere is full of sighs.

And I, with faltering footsteps, journey on,

Watching the stars that roll the hours away,
Till the faint light that guides me now is gone,
And, like another life, the glorious day
Shall open o'er me from the empyreal height.
With warmth, and certainty, and boundless light.