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What plummet may the Present sound?
Who promises a future heaven?
Or glad, or grieved,
Oppreffed, relieved,

In blackest night, or brightest day,
Still pours the flood

Of golden good,

And more than heart-full fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I poffefs

No petty province, but the whole;
What's mine alone is mine far lefs

Than treasure fhared by every soul.
Talk not of ftore,

Millions or more,

Of values which the purse may hold,
But this divine!

I own the mine

Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.

I have a stake in every star,

In every beam that fills the day;
All hearts of men my coffers are,
My ores arterial tides convey;
The fields, the fkies,

And sweet replies

Of thought to thought are my gold dust,

The oaks, the brooks,

And speaking looks

Of lovers' faith and friendship's truft.

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Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow
For him who lives above all years,
Who all-immortal makes the Now,

And is not ta'en in Time's arrears:
His life's a hymn

The seraphim

Might hark to hear or help to fing,
And to his soul

The boundless whole

Its bounty all doth daily bring.

"All mine is thine," the fky-soul saith: "The wealth I am, must thou become : Richer and richer, breath by breath,Immortal gain, immortal room!" And fince all his

Mine also is,

Life's gift outruns my fancies far,

And drowns the dream

In larger ftream,

As morning drinks the morning star.

D. A. Wafon.



HE night was made for cooling fhade,
For filence, and for fleep;

And when I was a child, I laid

My hands upon my breast, and prayed,
And sank to flumbers deep.

Childlike, as then, I lie to-night,
And watch my lonely cabin-light.

Each movement of the swaying lamp ·
Shows how the veffel reels,

And o'er her deck the billows tramp,
And all her timbers ftrain and cramp
With every shock she feels;

It starts and fhudders, while it burns,
And in its hingéd socket turns.

Now swinging flow, and flanting low,
It almost level lies:

And yet I know, while to and fro
I watch the seeming pendule go
With restless fall and rise,
The steady shaft is ftill upright,
Poifing its little globe of light.

O hand of God! O lamp of peace!
O promise of my soul!
Though weak and toffed, and ill at ease
Amid the roar of smiting seas

The fhip's convulfive roll

I own, with love and tender awe,
Yon perfect type of faith and law.

A heavenly truft my spirit calms
My soul is filled with light;
The ocean fings his solemn psalms;

The wild winds chant; I crofs my palms ;

Happy, as if to-night,

Under the cottage roof again,

I heard the soothing summer rain.

7. T. Trowbridge.



E afk for Peace, O Lord!
Thy children afk Thy peace;
Not what the world calls reft,
That toil and care fhould cease,
That through bright sunny hours
Calm Life fhould fleet away,
And tranquil night should fade
In smiling day,-

It is not for such Peace that we would pray.

We ask for Peace, O Lord!

Yet not to stand secure,
Girt round with iron Pride,

Contented to endure:

Crushing the gentle ftrings,

That human hearts fhould know,

Untouched by others' joys

Or others' woe;

Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.

We ask Thy Peace, O Lord!

Through ftorm, and fear, and strife,

To light and guide us on,

Through a long struggling life:

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