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Omnes eodum cogimur, omnium
Versatur urna serius ocius
Sors exitura et nos in æternum
Exilium impositura cumboe.

Hor. II. 3.

Not for ever, not for ever

Is our union decreed,
Not for ever runs Life's river

O'er the rock and thro' the mead,
But for ever and for ever

We shall meet again indeed.

If all smoothly runs the river

Rosy banks and bowers between, Let us ask of God the Giver

Beacon lights may intervene, Lest our gliding bark should shiver

As it nears the closing scene.

For then headlong runs the river,

As tho’ freed from bond and thrall, And with eyes shut like the diver,

Knowing nought that may befall, We but plunge—to live for ever

Where our God is All in All!


O do not look so bright and blest,

For still there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,

That grief is then most near.

There lurks a dread in all delight,

A shadow near each ray,
That warns us then to fear their flight,

When most we wish their stay.

Why is it thus that fairest things

The soonest fleet and die?
That when most light is on their wings,

They're then but spread to fly!

And, sadder still, the pain will stay,

The bliss no more appears ;
As rainbows take their light away,

And leave us but their tears.

Then look not thou so bright and blest,

For ah ! there comes a fear,
When brow like thine looks happiest,

That grief is then most near.

T. Moore.


Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,

Thy red gold, precious and bright,
Do not fear the hungry fire,

With its caverns of burning light:
And thy gold shall return more precious,

Free from every spot and stain;
For gold must be tried by fire,

As a heart must be tried by pain!

In the cruel fire of Sorrow

Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail ; Let thy hand be firm and steady,

Do not let thy spirit quail : But wait till the trial is over,

And take thy heart again; For as gold is tried by fire,

So a heart must be tried by pain !

I shall know by the gleam and glitter

Of the golden chain you wear,
By your heart's calm strength in loving,

Of the fire they have had to bear.
Beat on true heart for ever;

Shine bright, strong golden chain; And bless the cleansing fire,

And the furnace of living pain !

Miss Procter. XXXVIII.


Were the lonely acorn never bound
In the rude cold grasp of the rotting ground;
Did the rigid frost never harden up
The mould above its bursting cup;
Were it never soaked in the rain and hail,
Or chilled by the breath of the wintry gale,
It would not sprout to the sunshine free,
Or give the promise of a tree;
It would not spread to the summer air
Its lengthening boughs and branches fair,
To build a bower where, in starry nights,
Young Love might dream unknown delights ;
Or stand in the wood among its peers,
Fed by the dews of a thousand years.

Were never the dull, unseemly ore
Dragged from the depths where it slept of yore;
Were it never cast into searching flame,
To be purged of impurity and shame;
Were it never molten ʼmid burning brands,
Or bruised and beaten by stalwart hands,
It would never be known as a thing of worth ;
It would never emerge to a nobler birth;

It would never be formed into mystic rings,
To fetter Love's erratic wings ;
It would never shine amid priceless gems,
On the girth of imperial diadems;
Nor become to the world a power and a pride,
Cherished, adored and deified.

So thou, O man of a noble soul,
Starting in view of a glorious goal,
Wert thou never exposed to the blasts, forlorn-
The storms of sorrow—the sleets of scorn;
Wert thou never refined in pitiless fire,
From the dross of thy sloth and mean desire;
Wert thou never taught to feel and know
That the truest love has its roots in woe,
Thou would'st never unriddle the complex plan,
Or reach half way to the perfect man;
Thou would’st never attain the tranquil height
Where wisdom purifies the sight,
And God unfolds to the humblest gaze
The bliss and beauty of his ways.

C. Mackay,

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