MERCY.

The quality of mercy is not strainedIt droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven, Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown. His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute of awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings, But mercy is above his sceptred sway,

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,

It is an attribute of God himself,

And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice.

SHAKESPEARE.

INFLUENCE OF ADVERSITY.

Methinks if ye would know

How visitations of calamity

Affect the pious soul, tis shown ye there!

Look yonder at that cloud, which thro' the sky
Sailing alone, doth cross in her career

The rolling moon! I watched it as it came,

And deemed the thick opaque would blot her beams;
But melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs
In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes
The orb with richer beauties than her own,
Then passing, leaves her in her light serene.

THE INQUIRY.

Tell me, ye winged winds,

Do

That round my pathway roar,
ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more?

SOUTHEY.

Some lone and pleasant dell,

Some valley in the west,
Where free from toil and pain,
The weary soul may rest?

The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
Sighing for pity, as it answered-No!

Tell me, thou mighty deep,

Whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favoured spot,
Some island far away,
Where weary man may find
The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives,

And friendship never dies?

The wild waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer-No!

And thou, serenest moon,
That with such holy face
Dost look upon the earth,
Asleep in night's embrace,
Tell me, in all thy round,
Hast thou not seen a spot
Where miserable man

Might find a happier lot?

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice sweet but sad responded—No!

Tell me, my secret soul,

Oh! tell me, Hope and Faith,

Is there no resting-place

From sorrow, sin, and death?

Is there no happy spot

Where mortals may be blest, Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest?

Faith, Hope, and Love (best boons to mortals given) Waved their bright wings and whisper'd-Yes, in

Heaven.

A FRIEND.

Wouldst have a friend,

Wouldst know what friend is best?

Have God thy friend,

Who passeth all the rest.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE DEATH OF A CHRISTIAN.

Calm on the bosom of thy God,
Fair spirit, rest thee now,
E'en while with us thy footsteps trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust to its narrow bed beneath,
Soul to its home on high;

They that have seen thy look in death.
No more may fear to die.

HEMANS.

THE IMMORTALITY OF LOVE.

They sin who tell us love can die.
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity :

In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell;
Earthly these passions of the Earth,
They perish where they have their birth;
But love is indestructible;

Its holy flame for ever burneth,

From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth.

Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

At times deceived, at times opprest,

It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest.
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest time of love is there.

From the Curse of Kehama.

THE UNRIVALLED BEAUTY AND GLORY
OF RELIGION.

Soft are the fruitful show'rs that bring
The welcome promise of the spring,
And soft the vernal gale;

Sweet the wild warblings of the grove,
The voice of nature and of love,
That gladden ev'ry vale :

But softer in the mourner's ear
Sounds the mild voice of Mercy near,
That whispers sins forgiven;
And sweeter far the music swells,
When to the raptured soul she tells
Of peace and promised heav'n.

Fair are the flow'rs that deck the ground;
And groves and gardens, blooming round,
Unnumber'd charms unfold;
Bright is the sun's meridian ray,
And bright the beams of setting day,
That robe the clouds in gold.

But far more fair the pious breast,
In richer robes of goodness drest,
Where heav'n's own graces shine;
And brighter far the prospects rise,
That burst on Faith's delighted eyes,
From glories all divine.

All earthly charms, however dear,
Howe'er they please the eye or ear,
Will quickly fade or fly!

Of earthly glory-faint the blaze,
And soon the transitory rays
In endless darkness die.

The nobler beauties of the just
Shall never moulder in the dust,
Or know a sad decay;

Their honours time and death defy,
And round the throne of God on high

Beam everlasting day.

HENRY MOORE.

THE HOME OF THE JUST IS NOT IN THE GRAVE.

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul,

Descend to contemplate

The form that once was dear;

The spirit is not there

That kindled that dead eye,
That in that motionless hand
Has met thy friendly grasp,
The spirit is not there.

It is but lifeless perishable flesh,
That moulders in the grave.

Earth, Air, and Water, min'stering particles,

Now to the elements resolve,

Their uses done.

Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul,

Follow the friend beloved;

The spirit is not there.

Often together have we talk'd of Death;

I