They but wake from their sleep, and their spirits have fled They but wake into life, to repose with the dead. And there lay the infant still smiling in death, And scarce heaved its breast as it yielded its breath; And there laythe boy, yet in youth's budding bloom, With the calmness of sleep-but the hue of the tomb! And there fell the youth in the pride of his prime, In the morning of life-in the spring-tide of crime: And unnerved is that arm, and fast closed is that eye, And cold is that bosom which once beat so high. And the fond mother's hope, and the fond father's trust, And the widow's sole stay, are returning to dust: Egypt has not a place where there is not one dead, From the proud monarch's palace to penury's shed. And the hearths of that country are desolate now. And the crown of her glory is struck from her brow: But while proud Egypt trembles, all Israel is free— Unfetter'd-unbound, as the wave of the sea. THE BETTER LAND. Mrs. Hemans. I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand, Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy, THERE IS A FRIEND WHICH STICKETH CLOSER THAN A BROTHER. Barton. THOUGH Sunless, moonless, starless seem Each sufferer's lonely state, There is a light, whose cheering beam It comes with healing on its wings, And heavenly radiance round it flings! It rises on the darken'd mind Than that to outward orb assign'd, Of sun, or moon, or star; And matchless in its mild control Over the desolate in soul. There is a Friend more tender, true, Who, be their pathway bright or dim, The heart by Him sustain'd, though deep The soul he condescends to keep, In nature's weakness, sorrow's night, He is the Friend who changeth not, Be poverty or wealth; In joy or grief, contempt or fame, To all who seek Him, still the same! Of human hearts he holds the key; Is friendship meet for ours? He can recall the lost, the dead, Of earthly friends, who finds them true, But happier still, life's journey through, A heavenly Friend-to know we need, ADAM'S MORNING ADORATION. Milton. THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good! Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! In these thy lowest works; yet these declare |