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A PSALM OF LIFE.
Come away for Life and Thought
A great and distant city-have bought
Would they could have stayed with us!
A PSALM OF LIFE.-Longfellow.
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!" For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal; "Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us further than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
In the world's broad field of battle,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
Footsteps on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
Let us, then, be up and doing,
BERMUDAS. - Marvell.
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride,
"What should we do but sing His praise,
He lands us on a glassy stage,
Thus sung they, in the English boat,
234 TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. — Keble.
"The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy."- PROVERBS XIV. 10.
WHY should we faint and fear to live alone,
Since all alone—so Heaven has willed—we die, Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh?
Each in its hidden sphere of joy or woe,
Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart; Our eyes see all around, in gloom or glow, Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart.
And well it is for us our God should feel
Alone our secret throbbings; so our prayer May readier spring to heaven, nor spend its zeal On cloud-born idols of this lower air.
For if one heart in perfect sympathy
Beat with another, answering love for love, Weak mortals all entranced on earth would lie, Nor listen for those purer strains above.
Or what if Heaven for once its searching light
Wander at large, nor heed Love's gentle thrall?
Who would not shun the dreary, uncouth place?
So might we friendless live, and die unwept.
A SONNET. - EXPERIENCE.
Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn,
Thou who canst love us, though thou read'st us true!
As on the bosom of the aerial dawn
Melts in dim haze each coarse, ungentle hue.
A SONNET.- Wordsworth.
SCORN not the Sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
The thing became a trumpet, whence he blew
How false is found, as on in life we go,