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There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance;
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure,
He kindly learns us to endure.

Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brow with cooling balm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
And throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!

Oh! thou, who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day,
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers," Be resigned!
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

Robert Nicoll.

1814-1837.

LINES WRITTEN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.*

THE dew is on the summer's greenest grass,
Through which the modest daisy blushing peeps ;
The gentle wind that like a ghost doth pass,

A waving shadow on the corn-field keeps ;
But I who love them all shall never be
Again among the woods, or on the moorland lea!

The sun shines sweetly sweeter may it shine!
Blessed is the brightness of a summer day;
It cheers lone hearts; and why should I repine,

Although among green fields I cannot stray! Woods! I have grown, since last I heard you wave, Familiar now with death, and neighbor to the grave!

*It is believed that this was the last, or among the very last, of Nicoll's compositions.

These woods have shaken mighty human souls
Like a sepulchral echo drear they sound
E'en as the owl's wild whoop at midnight rolls
The ivied remnants of old ruins round.
Yet wherefore tremble? Can the soul decay?
Or that which thinks and feels, in aught e'er fade
away?

Are there not aspirations in each heart,
After a better, brighter world than this?
Longings for beings nobler in each part-
Things more exalted - steeped in deeper bliss?
Who gave us these? What are they? Soul! in thee
The bud is budding now for immortality!

Death comes to take me where I long to be;

One pang, and then bright blooms th' immortal flower;

Death comes to lead me from mortality

To lands which know not one unhappy hour: I have a hope- a faith;- from sorrow here

I'm led by death away—why should I start and fear?

If I have loved the forest and the field,

Can I not love them deeper, better, there?
If all that power hath made, to me doth yield
Something of good and beauty-something fair

Freed from the grossness of mortality,

May I not love them all, and better all enjoy?

A change from woe to joy

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Death gives me this; — it leads me calmly where The souls that long ago from mine were riven

May meet again! Death answers many a prayer. Bright day! shine on-be glad :- days brighter far Are stretched before my eyes than those of mortals are.

I would be laid among the wildest flowers,

I would be laid where happy hearts can come :
The worthless clay I heed not; but in hours
Of gushing noontide joy, it may be, some
Will dwell upon my name; and I will be
A happy spirit there, affection's look to see.

Death is upon me, yet I fear not now:-
Open my chamber-window - let me look
Upon the silent vales - the sunny glow

That fills each alley, close, and copsewood nook:
I know them-love them - mourn not them to leave;
Existence and its change my spirit cannot grieve!

Miscellaneous.

SONGS OF BEING.

THE BIRTH.

HAIL! new-waked atom of the Eternal whole,
Young voyager upon Time's mighty river!
Hail to thee, Human Soul!

Hail, and forever!

Pilgrim of life, all hail!

He who at first called forth

From nothingness the earth,

Who clothed the hills in strength, and dug the sea,

Who gave the stars to gem

Night like a diadem,

Thou little child, made thee;

Young habitant of earth,

Fair as its flowers, though brought in sorrow forth,

Thou art akin to God who fashioned thee!

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