Honour and feeling were given thee to cherish;
Cherish them, then, though all else should decay : Landmarks be these that are never to perish, Stars that will shine on thy duskiest day.
Courage !—disaster and peril once over,
Freshen the spirit, as showers the grove :
O'er the dim graves that the cypresses cover,
Soon the "forget-me-not" rises in love.
Courage, then, friends! though the universe crumble,
Innocence, dreadless of danger beneath,
Patient and trustful, and joyous and humble,
Smiles through the ruin on darkness and death.
-German of Seewis.
LABOUR is rest-from the sorrows that greet us;
Rest from all petty vexations that meet us;
Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us;
Rest from world-syrens that lure us to ill.
Work—and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow;
Work-thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow;
Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow:
Work with a stout heart and resolute will!
Labour is health! Lo the husbandman reaping,
How through his veins goes the life-current leaping;
How his strong arm, in its stalwart pride sweeping,
Free as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides!
Labour is wealth-in the sea the pearl groweth,
Rich the queen's robe from the frail cocoon floweth,
From the fine acorn the stirring forest bloweth,
Temple and statue the marble block hides.
Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee; Look on yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;
Rest not content in thy darkness—a clod! Work for some good-be it ever so slowly; Cherish some flower-be it ever so lowly; Labour-all labour is noble and holy:
Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to thy God.
Pause not to dream of the future before us;
Pause not to weep the wild cares that come o'er us;
Hark how Creation's deep musical chorus,
Unintermitting, goes up into Heaven!
Never the ocean wave falters in flowing;
Never the little seed stops in its growing;
More and more richly the rose-heart keeps glowing,
Till from its nourishing stem it is riven.
"Labour is worship!"—the robin is singing;
"Labour is worship!"-the wild bee is ringing;
Listen that eloquent whisper, upspringing,
Speaks to thy soul from out nature's heart.
From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; From the rough sod comes the soft-breathing flower; From the small insect the rich coral bower;
Only man, in the plan, ever shrinks from his part.
Labour is life! 'Tis the still water faileth;
Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth:
Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth;
Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon.
Labour is glory!--the flying cloud lightens ;
Only the waving wing changes and brightens ;
Idle hearts only the dark future frightens :
Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune.
MRS FRANCES OSGOOD, 1812-1850.
LIKE as the damask rose you see,
Or like the blossom on the tree,
Or like the dainty flower of May,
Or like the morning to the day,
Or like the sun, or like the shade,
Or like the gourd which Jonas had,
E'en such is man ;-whose thread is spun,
Drawn out, and cut, and so is done.
The rose withers, the blossom blasteth,
The flower fades, the morning hasteth,
The sun sets, the shadow flies,
The gourd consumes,—and man he dies!
Like to the grass that's newly sprung,
Or like a tale that's new begun,
Or like the bird that's here to-day,
Or like the pearlèd dew of May,
Or like an hour, or like a span,
Or like the singing of a swan,
E'en such is man ;-who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The grass withers, the tale is ended,
The bird is flown, the dew's ascended,
The hour is short, the span not long,
The swan's near death,-man's life is done!
SIMON WASTELL, 1629.
RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse fortune's power;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treacherous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, Embittering all his state.
The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower
Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts that spare the mountain's side,
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.
The well-inform'd philosopher,
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes in spite of pain;
If Winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth,
And Nature laughs again.
What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last ;
Expect a brighter sky.
The God that strings the silver bow
Awakes sometimes the muses too,
And lays His arrows by.
If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,
And let thy strength be seen:
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