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Old Time will end our story;

YOUNG.

But no time, if we end well, will end our glory.
BEAUMONT & FLETCHER.

To stamp the seal of time on aged things;
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night;
To wrong the wronger, till he render right;
To ruinate proud buildings with thy hours,
And smear with dust their glittering golden Time flows from instants, and of these, each

towers.

SHAKSPEARE.

Minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years,
Passed over to the end they were created,
Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.
SHAKSPEARE.

It is ten o'clock;

Thus may we see how the world wags;
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after an hour more 'twill be eleven;
And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale!

SHAKSPEARE.

Ceaselessly the weaver, Time,

Sitteth at his mystic loom,
Keeps his arrowy shuttle flying—
Every thread anears our dying-
And with melancholy chime,
Very low and sad withal,
Sings his solemn madrigal

As he weaves our web of doom.
"Mortals!" thus he, weaving, sings,
"Bright or dark the web shall be,
As ye will it; all the tissues
Blending in harmonious issues
Or discordant colorings;
Time the shuttle drives, but you
Give to every thread its hue,
And elect your destiny."

W. H. BURLEIGH.

Time lays his hand

On pyramids of brass, and ruins quite
What all the fond artificers did think
Immortal workmanship.

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DAVENANT.

GAY.

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Adorner of the ruin; comforter

Time, in advance, bebind him hides his wings, | O Time! thou beautifier of the dead;
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age;
Behold him when passed by; what then is seen
But his broad pinions swifter than the winds?

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And only healer when the heart hath bled;
Time! the corrector when our judgments err;
The test of truth, love; sole philosopher,
For all besides are sophists.

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316

TIME-TOIL-TO-MORROW - TREACHERY.

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SHAKSPEARE.

Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,

One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,

One more triumph for devils, and sorrow for angels,

One wrong more to man, one more insult to God.

BROWNING.

For pleasures, vanities, and hates,

The compact we renew,

And Judas rises in our hearts,

We sell our Saviour too.

How for some moments' vain delights

We will embitter years,

And in our youth lay up for age

Only remorse and tears!

MISS LANDON.

There walks Judas, he who sold Yesterday his Lord for gold; Sold God's presence in his heart For a proud step in the mart.

LOWELL.

We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss
For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown;

Think on th' insulting scorn, the conscious Thus, Esau-like, our Father's blessing miss,

pangs,

The future miseries that await th' apostate.

Then wash with fruitless tears our faded

crown.

DR. JOHNSON.

KEBLE.

TREACHERY-TRIAL-TRUST IN GOD.

They promised money, so he broke

The last most sacred tie, And sold the Master whom he served, In mortal pangs to die.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

Return, once more return, O wanderer, to thy God;

TRUST IN GOD.

317

Great God! thou art the flowing spring of light;

Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent ray: Thou art my path, direct my steps aright, I have no other light, no other way; I'll trust my God, and him alone pursue;

A voice yet on thee calls, a finger points the His law shall be my path, his heavenly light

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my clue.

QUARLES.

God shall be my hope,

My stay, my guide, and lantern to my feet. SHAKSPEARE.

I will not let Thee go, Thou help in time of need!

Heap ill on ill, I trust Thee still,

E'en when it seems as Thou wouldst slay

indeed!

Do as as Thou wilt with me, I yet will cling to Thee!

Hide Thou thy face, yet, help in time of need, I will not let Thee go!

From the German of DESZLER.

Shed kindly light amid the encircling gloom, And lead me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
So long Thy power hath blessed me, surely

still

"Twill lead me on

Through dreary doubt, through pain and sorrow, till

The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

"LYRA APOSTOLICA."

I should on God alone so much depend, That I should need nor wealth, nor other friend.

WITHER.

I trust in Thee, and know in whom I trust; Or life, or death is equal; neither weighs; All weight is this: O let me live to Thee! YOUNG.

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