128

EUTHANASIA.

To clasp the faith which looks on high,
Which fires the Christian's dying eye,
And makes the curtain fold

That falls upon his wasting breast,
The door that leads to endless rest.

It were not lonely thus to lie
On that triumphant bed,

Till the pure spirit mounts on high,
By white-winged seraphs led:
Where glories earth may never know,
O'er 'many mansions' lingering glow,
In peerless lustre shed;

It were not lonely thus to soar,

Where Sin and Grief can sting no more.

And though the way to such a goal

Lies through the clouded tomb,

If on the free unfettered soul

There rests no stains of gloom,

How should its aspirations rise,

Far through the blue unpillared skies,
Up-to its final home!

Beyond the journeyings of the sun,

Where streams of living waters run.

PENNSYLVANIA.

BY WILLIAM B. TAPPAN.

LEAP forth to the careering seas,"

Oh, ship of lofty name!

And toss upon thy native breeze

The stars and stripes of fame!

And bear thy thunders o'er the deep
Where vaunting navies ride!-
Thou hast a nation's gems to keep-
Her honor and her pride!

Oh! holy is the covenant made

With thee and us to-day;—

None from the compact shrinks afraid,

No traitor utters nay!

We pledge our fervent love, and thou
Thy glorious ribs of oak,

Alive with men who cannot bow
To kings, nor kiss the yoke!

Speed lightnings o'er the Carib Sea,
Which deeds of hell deform;

And look! her hands are spread to thee
Where Afric's robbers swarm.

Go! lie upon the Egean's breast,

Where sparkle emerald isles

Stern watch on their highway, And promptly, through thine iron lip When urged, our tribute pay;

Yea, show thy bristling teeth of pow Wherever tyrants bind,

In pride of their own little hour,

A freeborn, noble mind.

Spread out those ample wings of thi
While crime doth govern men,
"Tis fit such bulwark of the brine
Should leave the shores of PENN;
For hid within thy giant strength
Are germs of welcome Peace,
And such as thou, shall cause at leng
Man's feverish strife to cease.
From every vale, from every crag,
Word of thy beauty's past,

And joy we that our country's flag
Streams from thy towering mast-
Assured that in thy prowess, thou
For her wilt win renown,

Whose sons can die, but know not ho

To strike that pennon down.

EVENING.

BY ELIZA FOLLEN.

THE sun is set, the day is o'er,
And labor's voice is heard no more;
On high, the silver moon is hung;

The birds their vesper hymns have sung,
Save one, who oft breaks forth anew,
To chant another sweet adieu

To all the glories of the day,
And all its pleasures passed away.
Her twilight robe all nature wears,
And evening sheds her fragrant tears,
Which every thirsty plant receives,
While silence trembles on its leaves.

From every tree and every bush,

There seems to breathe a soothing hush;
While every transient sound but shows

How deep and still is the repose.
Thus calm and fair may all things be,

When life's last sun has set with me;

132

EVENING.

And may the lamp of memory shine
As sweetly on my day's decline,

As yon pale crescent, pure and fair,
That hangs so safely in the air,

And pours her mild, reflected light,
To soothe and bless the weary sight.

And may my spirit often wake

Like thine, sweet bird; and, singing, take
Another farewell of the sun,—

Of pleasures past, of labors done.

See, where the glorious sun has set,

A line of light is lingering yet:
O, thus may love awhile illume
The silent darkness of my tomb.