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Our age' seventy years'. .is set':
How short the time! how frail the state'!
And if to eighty we arrive',
We rather sigh and groan', than live'.
But', oh'! how oft thy wrath appears',
And cuts off our expected years'!
Thy wrath awakes our humblea dread':
We fear the power that strikes us dead'.
Teach us'; O Lord', how frail is man';
And kindly lengthen out the span',
Till a wise care of piety'
Fit us to'.. die and dwell with thee!.


St. John, chapter 12.

Repenting Mary. THEN', six days before the passover', Jesus came to Bethany', where Lazarus was who had been dead', and whom he had raised from the dead'. There they made him a supper'; and Martha served: but Lazarus was one of them that sat at the table with him'.

Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard', very costly', and anointed the feet of Jesus', and wiped his feet with her hair'; and the house was filled with the odour of the oint. ment'.

Version of the same.

WERED not the sinful Mary's tears'

An offering worthy heaven',
When o'er the faults of former years'

She wept'... and was forgiven'?
When', bringing every balmy sweet'

Her day of Luxury stored',
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet'

The precious perfumes poured';
And wiped them with that golden hair',

Where once the diamond shone',
Though now those gems of grief wereb there',

Which shine for God alone'?

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Were not those sweets', so humbly shed'

That hair—those weeping eyes' -
And the sunk heart that inly bled',

Heaven's noblest sacrifice'?
Thou that hast slept in errour's sleep',

Oh! wouldst thou wake in heaven',
Like Mary',. kneel', like Mary': . weep',

“ Love much'"...and be forgiven'.


There's nothing true but Heaven.-MOORE.
This world is all a fleeting show',

For man's illusion given';
The smiles of joy', the tears of wo',
Deceitful shine', deceitful flot'

There's nothing true'.. but Heaven'.
And false the light on glory's plume',

As fading hues of even';
And love', and hope', and beauty's bloom',
Are blossoms gathered for the tomb

There's nothing bright.. but Heaven'.
Poor wanderers of a stormy day',

From wave to wave we're driven';
And fancy's flash', and reason's ray',
Serve but to light the troubled way

There's nothing calm but Heaven'.

Secret Devotion.-IB.

As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silentc to Thee,

My God, silent to thee:

Pure, warm, silento to Thee
So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion,

Unheard by the wo rises silentc to Thee.
As still to the star of its worship, though clouded,

The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee,

My God, trembling to Thee;

True, fond, trembling to Theem So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.

*Wer. "Säk're-flze. Sl'lent--not, sl'lunt.


The Soul in Eternity.-BYRON.
WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay',

Ah', whither strays the immortal mind'?
It cannot dic', it cannot stay',

But leaves its darkened dust behind'.
Then', unembodied', dotha it trace'

By steps each planet's heavenly way'?
Or fill', at once', the realms of space';

A thing of eyes that all survey'?
Eternal', boundless', undecayed',

A thought unseen', but seeing all',
All, all in earth or skies displayed

Shall it survey', shall it recali':
Each fainter trace that memory holds'

So darkly of departed years',
In one broad glance the soul beholds',

And all that was', at once appears'.
Before creation peopled earth',

Its eyes shall roll through chaos back';
And', where the farthest heaven had birth',

The spirit trace its rising track'.
And', where the future'.. mars or makes',

Its glance dilate o'er all to be',
While sun' .. is quenched', or system'b.. breaks',

Fixed' in its own eternity's
Above or love', hope', hate', or fear',

It lives all passionless and pure':
An age shall feet like earthly year';

years as moments shall endure'.
Away', away', without a wing',

O'er all', through all', its thought shall fly'.
A nameless and eternal thing',

Forgetting what it was to die'.

Henry the Fourth's Soliloquy on Sleep.-SHAKSPEARI.

How many thousands of myd poorest subjects
Are', at this hour', asleep! O', gentle sleep'!
Nature'se soft nurse': how have I frighted thee',
That thou no more wilt weigh myd eyelids down',
And steep my senses in forgetfulness'?
Why rather', sleep', liest thou in smoky CRIBS',
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee',

*Důth. Sis'temcMo'ments, dMe. Nå'tshtirez.

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber',
Than in the perfumed chamberså of the GREAT',
Under the canopies of costly state',
And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?

O', thou dull god! Why liest thou with the vile',
In loathsome beds', and leav'st the kingly couch',
A watch-case', or a common 'larum-belli?
Wilt thou', upon the high and giddy mast',
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes', and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude', imperious surge',
And in the visitation of the winds
Which take the ruffian billows by the top',
Curling their monstrous heads', and hanging them
With deafʼningb clamours in the slipp'ry clouds',
That', with the hurly* death itself awakes' ---
Canst thou', O', partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude',
And', in the calmest and the stillest night',
With all appliances and

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means to Boot', Deny it to a KING'? Then happy', low lie down'! UNEASY lies the head that wears a crown'.



Apostrophe to Light.MILTON.
Hail! holy Light, offspring of Heaven first born,
Or of the eternal co-eternal beam,
May I express thee unblamed? Since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate,
Or hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell ?. Before the sun,
Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight,
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre
I sung of chaos and eternal night.
Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down

dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare; Thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign, vital lamp; but thou

Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain, *Noise. aTshame'bůrz. Def'fn'ing. Es'sense--not és'sunse.

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the muses haunt,
Clear spring or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget
Those other two, equalled with me in fate,
So were I equalled with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris and blind Meonides,
And Tyresias and Phineas, prophets old :
Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid,
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year,
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even and morn;
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ;
But cloud, instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair,
Presented with a universal blank
Of nature's works, to me expunged and razed,
And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out.
So much the rather thou, celestial Light,
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate: there plant eyes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.


Darkness.-BYRON. I HAD a dream', which was not all a dream'. The bright sun was extinguished', and the stars Did wander', darkling in the eternal space', Rayless' and pathless', and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air'. Morn came', and went, and came', and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this their desolation'; and all hearts Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light'. And they did live by watchfires'; and the thrones' The palaces of crowned kings'—the huts', The habitations of all things which dwell', Were burned for beacons' Cities were consumed', And men were gathered round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face'.

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