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A CHERUB. " Dear Sir, I am in some little disorder by reason of the death of a little child of mine, a boy that lately made us very glad ; but now he rejoices in his little orbe, while we thinke, and sigh, and long to be as safe as he is."-JEREMY Taylor to Evelyn, 1656.
Beautiful thing! with thine eye of light,
THE LAKE SIDE.
Tuis placid lake, my gentle girl,
Be emblem of thy life, As full of peace and purity
As free from care and strife; No ripple on its tranquil breast
That dies not with the day, No pebble in its darkest depths,
But quivers in its ray.
And see, how every glorious form
And pageant of the skies,
A mirrored image lies ;
To God and virtue given, And thought, and word, and action bear
The imagery of heaven.
THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH.
Lift not thou the wailing voice,
Weep not, 'tis a Christian dieth, — Up, where blessed saints rejoice,
Ransomed now, the spirit flieth ; High, in heaven's own light, she dwelleth, Full the song of triumph swelleth ; Freed from earth, and earthly failing, Lift for her no voice of wailing!
Pour not thou the bitter tear;
Heaven its book of comfort opeth ; Bids thee sorrow not, nor fear,
But, as one who alway hopeth, Humbly here in faith relying, Peacefully in Jesus dying,
Heavenly joy her eye is flushing, -
Ours be, then, no thought of grieving!
All their toils and troubles leaving :
JOHN KEBLE. MR. Kelle was educated at Oxford, entered holy orders, and was for some time pastor of a rural congregation, to whose spiritual interests he devoted himself with untiring ardor and affection. He was subsequently elected Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, and he has been distinguished as one of those eminent scholars and divines, among whom are Newman, Hook, and Pusey, who have since shaken the religious world with some of the most ingenious and able theological discussions of modern times, in the Oxford Tracts. Mr. Keble is known as a poet chiefly through “ The Christian Year," which was first published in 1827. It has passed through more than thirty editions in England, and has been several times reprinted in this country. The American impressions contain a preface and other valuable additions by the author's friend, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Doane, Bishop of the Episcopal church in New Jersey. Besides this, he has written “ The Child's Christian Year ;" some of the finest pieces in the “ Lyra Apostolica,” and a new translation of the Psalms of David.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay,
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
Why waste your treasures of delight
Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
New every morning is the love
New mercies each returning day,
Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
Falls on the moon the brief November day. Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,
And echo bids good-night from every glade : Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float,
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade. How like decaying life they seem to glide
And yet no second spring have they in store ; But where they fall, forgotten, to abide,
Is all their portion, and they ask no more. Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild flowers round them shall unfold ; The green buds glisten in the dews of spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
In all the world of busy life around
No drop for them of kindly influence found.
Yet he complains; while these, unmurmuring, part With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain
As his, when Eden held his virgin heart. And haply half-unblamed, his murmuring voice
Might sound in heaven, were all his second life Only the first renewed—the heathen's choice,
A round of listless joy and weary strife. For dreary were this earth, if earth were all,
Though brightened oft by dear affection's kiss : Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall ?
But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.