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STANZAS ON TIME.
Age with its hopes were there,
Of youth and beauty fair ;
The look’d-for bliss possess,
In age's deariness.
I saw the lofty mountain oak,
Bleak tempests proudly dare,
And birds of song dwelt there;
I turned again and still’d my breath,
Those carolings to hear;
That home of song was near;
I saw so strongly rear'd a tower,
That nature's thunder came,
And yet it stood the same;
I turn'd again, it disappear'd,
Touch'd by an unseen hand,
Pass'd as a magic wand;
I asked, whence this so mighty spell ?
Or where began its pow'r?"
When lo! a dark’ning low'r
Then came a gloom pall cover'd one,
On devastation's car,
With yonder morning star;
And tyrant like it said,
And sunk beneath my tread
And wrap'd the skies in night,
Then, then I take my fright;
THE FADED ONE.
WRITTEN BY W. G. CLARKE.
Gone to the slumber which may know no waking
Till the loud requiem of the world shall swell; Gone! where no sound thy still repose is breaking
In a lone mansion, through long years to dwell!
Pour not their music, or their fragrant breath,
Shone in the freshness of Life's morning hours; the
And thy light feet impress'd but vernal flowers ; The restless spirit charmed thy sweet existence,
Making all beauteous in Youth's pleasant maze; While gladsome Hope illumined the onward distance,
And lit with sunbeams thy expected days. How have the garlands of thy Chilhood withered
And Hope's false anthem died upon the air ! Death's cloudy tempests o'er thy way have gathered,
And his stern bolts have burst in fury there; Onthy pale forehead sleep the shades of Even
Youth's braided wreath lies stained in sprinkled dust Yet looking upward in its grief to Heaven,
Love should not mourn thee save in hope we trust !
REMEMBRANCER. When unto dust, like sunny flowers departed,
From our dim paths the bright and lovely fade, The fair of form--the free and gentle hearted,
Whose looks within the breast a Sabbath made: How like a whisper on the inconstant wind,
The memory of their voices stirs the mind ! We hear the song the sigh-the joyous laughter,
That from their lips of old were wont to flow; When hope's beguiling plume they hurried after,
Ere their pale temples wore the locks of snow; When joy's bright harp to sweetest lays was strung, And poured rich numbers for the loved and young ? When the pale stars are burning high in heaven,
When the low night winds kiss the flowering tree,
How soft those voices on the heart will be !
What powerful magic can their smiles restore ?
They passed in darkness—they will come no more !
Glowed with the worship of an humble soul,
Where the clear rivers of Salvation roll ?
EVENING HYMN FOR DOMESTIC WORSHIP
This night may the incense of prayer
From the family altar arise ;
Our wishes and wants to the skies?
Through merits far more than our own,
Acceptance to-night at thy throne.
And blest with the light of thy face,
And sought thy forgiveness and grace.