To shelter, water, culture, prune, and rear

The tree of happiness; and oft their plans

Were tried;-but still the fruit was green and

sour.

Of all the trees that in Earth's vineyard grew,
And with their clusters tempted man to pull
And eat,-one tree, one tree alone, the true
Celestial manna bore which filled the soul,
The tree of Holiness of heavenly seed,

A native of the skies; tho' stunted much,
And dwarfed, by Time's cold, damp, ungenial soil,
And chilling winds, yet yielding fruit so pure,
So nourishing and sweet, as, on his way,
Refreshed the pilgrim; and begot desire
Unquenchable to climb the arduous path
To where her sister plants, in their own clime,
Around the fount, and by the stream of life,
Blooming beneath the Sun that never sets,-
Bear fruit of perfect relish fully ripe.

To plant this tree, uprooted by the fall,
To earth the Son of God descended, shed

His precious blood; and on it evermore,
From off his living wings, the Spirit shook

The dews of heaven, to nurse and hasten its

growth.

Nor was this care, this infinite expense,

Not needed to secure the holy plant.

To root it out, and wither it from earth,

Hell strove with all its strength, and blew with all

Its blasts; and Sin, with cold consumptive breath,
Involved it still in clouds of mortal damp.
Yet did it grow, thus kept, protected thus ;
And bear the only fruit of true delight;
The only fruit worth plucking under heaven.

But, few, alas! the holy plant could see, For heavy mists that Sin around it threw Perpetually; and few the sacrifice

Would make by which alone its clusters stooped,

And came within the reach of mortal man.

For this, of him who would approach and eat,
Was rigorously exacted to the full :—

To tread and bruise beneath the foot, the world
Entire; its prides, ambitions, hopes, desires;
Its gold, and all its broidered equipage;

To loose its loves and friendships from the heart,
And cast them off; to shut the ear against
Its praise, and all its flatteries abhor;

And having thus behind him thrown what seemed
So good and fair-then must he lowly kneel,
And with sincerity, in which the Eye

That slumbers not, nor sleeps, could see no lack,
This prayer pray:-"Lord God! thy will be done;
Thy holy will, howe'er it cross my own."

Hard labour this for flesh and blood! too hard
For most it seemed: so, turning, they the tree
Derided, as mere bramble, that could bear
No fruit of special taste; and so set out

Upon ten thousand different routes to seek

What they had left behind; to seek what they Had lost-for still as something once possest, And lost, true happiness appeared: all thought They once were happy; and even while they smoked

And panted in the chase-believed themselves More miserable to-day than yesterday

To-morrow than to-day. When youth com

plained,

The ancient sinner shook his hoary head,
As if he meant to say: Stop till you come
My length, and then you may have cause to sigh.
At twenty, cried the boy, who now had seen
Some blemish in his joys: How happily

Plays yonder child that busks the mimic babe,
And gathers gentle flowers, and never sighs.
At forty in the fervour of pursuit,

Far on in disappointment's dreary vale,

The grave

and sage-like man looked back upon

The stripling youth of plump unseared hope,

Who galloped gay and briskly up behind-
And moaning wished himself eighteen again.
And he of threescore years and ten, in whose
Chilled eye, fatigued with gaping after hope,
Earth's freshest verdure seemed but blasted

leaves,

Praised childhood, youth and manhood, and denounced

Old age alone as barren of all joy.
Decisive proof that men had left behind

The happiness they sought, and taken à most
Erroneous path; since every step they took
Was deeper mire. Yet did they onward run-
Pursuing Hope that danced before them still,
And beckoned them to proceed-and with
their hands,

That shook and trembled piteously with age,

Grasped at the lying Shade, even till the Earth

Beneath them broke, and wrapt them in the

grave.