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If true unto thyself thou wast,

What were the proud one's scorn to thee? A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside, as idly as the blast

The light leaf from the tree.

No:-uncurb'd passions-low desires-
Absence of noble self-respect-
Death, in the breast's consuming fires,
To that high nature which aspires
For ever, till thus check'd:

These are thine enemies-thy worst:
They chain thee to thy lowly lot—

Thy labour and thy life accurst.

Oh, stand erect! and from them burst!
And longer suffer not!

Thou art thyself thine enemy!

The great!—what better they than thou? As theirs, is not thy will as free?

Has God with equal favours thee
Neglected to endow?

True, wealth thou hast not: 'tis but dust!
Nor place uncertain as the wind!
But that thou hast, which, with thy crust
And water, may despise the lust

Of both-a noble mind.

With this, and passions under ban,
True faith, and holy trust in God,
Thou art the peer of any man.
Look up, then that thy little span
Of life may be well trod!

-American.

M. D. GALLAGHER, 1808—

NOW AND THEN.

Now is a constant warning stroke
Beat by the ceaseless clock of Time,
A voice our wisdom to evoke,
A mandate solemnly sublime;

It bids us keep the soul awake,

To do the best our means allow,
To toil for truth and virtue's sake,
And make the effort Now.

Now is the watchword of the wise,
And often wins its wondrous way
Through hosts of dangers in disguise,
That wait to baffle and betray.
The specious Then doth oft deceive,

Brings pain of heart, and gloom of brow;
But would we some good work achieve,
Let's make the effort Now.

Now gilds the banner of the brave,

And Prudence wears it on her breast; That talisman has power to save

From vain remorse and sad unrest. Then leads us by an easy rein,

And breaks our well-intention'd vow : But would we earn some sterling gain, Let's make the effort Now.

Then may not come,-but Now is here, All ready at our own right hand, Perhaps with aspect half austere,

Yet prompt to help, if we command: Strive with it, and its blessings fall, Like sweet fruit from a laden bough; But we must feed on husks of gall, If we neglect the Now.

In youth, if just ambition fire,

And seem to lift the soul on wings;
If the heart glow with pure desire
For worthy and exalted things;—
Wait not, but rouse your latent power
Nor shrink your purpose to avow;
The only safe, propitious hour,

Is the fresh foremost Now.

In manhood, with our passions strong,
Oft hard to conquer or to guide,

If some insidious power of wrong
Has drawn our faltering feet aside,-

Sorrows will come, regrets and fears
Will make the humbled spirit bow;
But, to atone for wasted years,

Let's seek the right, and Now.

If 'mid the world's rude shock and strife,
Thou hast no sense of things divine,
No longing for the holier life,-

Oh, what a priceless loss is thine!
If thou wouldst hope, strength, comfort find,
God's oracle will teach thee how ;
Go, with a meek, inquiring mind,
And hear its voices Now.

Procrastination, foe to bliss,

Curse far more baneful than it seems,
What treasure we have lost by this,
In vain and unsubstantial dreams!
From this dear moment, let us start
With brave endeavour, righteous vow:
Up, drooping soul! up, languid heart!
And seize the golden Now!

JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE, 1808

THE FUTURE.

It was good, it was kind, in the Wise One above,
To fling Destiny's veil o'er the face of our years;
That we dread not the blow that shall strike at our love,
And expect not the beams that shall dry up our tears.

Did we know that the voices, now gentle and bland, Will forego the fond word and the whispering tone; Did we know that the eager and warm-pressing hand Will be joyfully forward in "casting the stone:"

Did we know the affection engrossing our soul
Will end, as it oft does, in sadness and pain;
That the passionate breast will but hazard its rest,
And be wreck'd on the shore it is panting to gain :

Oh! did we but know of the shadows so nigh,
The world would indeed be a prison of gloom;
All light would be quench'd in youth's eloquent eye,
And the prayer-lisping infant would ask for the tomb.

For if Hope is a star that may lead us astray,

And "deceiveth the heart," as the aged ones preach; Yet 'twas Mercy that gave it, to beacon our way,

Though its halo illumes where we never can reach.

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