When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close; When the goodman mends his armour, How well Horatius kept the bridge, LORD MACAULAY 141. GOD THE ONLY COMFORTER. THOU! who dry'st the mourner's tear, If, when deceived and wounded here, The friends, who in our sunshine live, When joy no longer soothes or cheers, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, Come, brightly wafting through the gloom, Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray; As darkness shows us worlds of light T. MOORE. 142. HUMAN LIFE. THE lark has sung his carol in the sky; THE The bees have humm'd their noontide lullaby; Still in the vale the village-bells ring round, Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound; For now the caudle-cup is circling there, Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire The babe, the sleeping image of his sire. A few short years and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin; The ale, new brew'd, in floods of amber shine: And basking in the chimney's ample blaze, 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, ""Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled!" And soon again shall music swell the breeze! Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung, And violets scatter'd round; and old and young, In every cottage-porch with garlands green, Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene; While, her dark eyes declining, by his side Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride. And once, alas! nor in a distant hour, Another voice shall come from yonder tower; When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen, And weeping's heard where only joy has been; When by his children borne, and from his door Slowly departing to return no more, He rests in holy earth with them that went before. And such is Human Life; —so gliding on, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching hour! ROGERS. 143. THE EXPULSION OF ADAM AND EVE FROM PARADISE. [From PARADISE LOST.] TH' Archangel stood; and from the other hill TH To their fix'd station, all in bright array, Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides, MILTON. 144. THOU ART GONE TO THE GRAVE. THOU HOU art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb: Thy Saviour has pass'd through its portal before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom! Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee, Thou art gone to the grave! and, its mansion forsaking, Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, BISHOP HEBER. 145. KINDRED HEARTS. H! ask not, hope thou not too much Of sympathy below; Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bids the sweet fountains flow: |