This lamp, from off the everlasting throne, Mercy took down, and in the night of time, Stood casting on the earth her gracious bow, And evermore beseeching men with tears And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live!
A PEN, to register; a key,
That winds through secret wards, Are well assigned to memory
By allegoric bards.
As aptly, also, might be given A pencil to her hand;
That, softening objects, sometimes even Outstrips the heart's demand;
That smooths foregone distress, the lines Of lingering cares subdues, Long-vanished happiness refines,
And clothes in brighter hues :
Yet, like a tool of fancy, works Those spectres to dilate,
That startle conscience, as she lurks
Within her lonely seat.
Oh! that our lives, which flee so fast,
In purity were such,
That not an image of the past
Should fear the pencil's touch!
Retirement then might hourly look Upon a soothing scene,
Age steal to his allotted nook, Contented and serene :
With heart as calm as lakes that sleep In frosty moonlight glistening; Or mountain rivers where they creep, Along a channel smooth and deep, To their own far-off murmurs listening.
LIFE'S MISSIONER. Thomas Roscor.
THIS mortal life of few and fleeting days Time hurries on, unheeded and obscure; Its iron yoke and chain I still endure, In spirit mourning, but with lips of praise; For I am told through dark and dangerous ways A Saviour's hand may lead our footsteps sure. Then prize, my heart, his precepts mild and pure; Lean on his cross, a staff that none betrays,
Like some lost pilgrim to the distant shrine Of his heart's vows, musing, is seen to stand At eventide, and gaze with wistful eye
On the far track behind him.
The trembling spirit marks life's fading strand,
Hasting to that far bourne where its last-loved hopes
O WORD of God-not by the letter bound,
But freely breathing through the chosen page, Inspiring many an ancient saint and sage- No human speech thy lofty thought can round. To utterance meet; or in set phrase expound The Secret of thy Heavenly parentage; Haply we may with labour disengage Some precious fragment from the vast profound, Making it ours for ever; but to enclose
The mighty sea itself, and fathom it- To mark its ebb and flow, and duly tame Its foaming coursers to our hand, may claim
A faculty we have not. It were fit
Man worshipped humbly where he nothing knows.
A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR.
SHE had been told that God made all the stars That twinkled up in heaven; and now she stood Watching the coming of the twilight on, As if it were a new and perfect world, And this were its first eve. She stood alone By the low window, with the silken lash Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth Half parted with the new and strange delight
Of beauty that she could not comprehend, And had not seen before. The purple fold Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky, That looked so still and delicate above,
Filled her young heart with gladness; and the eve Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still Stood looking at the west with that half smile, As if a pleasant thought were at her heart. Presently, in the edge of the last tint Of sunset, when the sun was melted in To the faint golden mellowness, a star Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight Burst from her lips, and, putting up her hands, Her simple thought broke forth expressively: "Father, dear father, God has made a star!"
A NAMELESS man, amid the crowd That thronged the daily mart, Let fall a word of light and love Unstudied from the heart-
The thought upon the tumult thrown, The transitory breath,
Has raised a brother from the dust, And saved a soul from death.
O thought of light! O breath of love! Even though at random cast!
How little wert thou at the first- How mighty at the last!
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