From Nature's magic hand, whose touch makes sadness Eventual gladness, The reverent moral Alchemist may learn The art to turn Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross, Lose we a valued friend?-To soothe our woe Let us bestow On those who still survive an added love, So shall we prove, Howe'er the dear departed we deplore, In friendship's sum and substance no diminished store. Lose we our health? Now may we fully know What thanks we owe For our sane years, perchance of lengthened scope: Now does our hope Point to the day when sickness, taking flight, Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight. In losing fortune, many a lucky elf Has found himself. · As all our moral bitters are designed To brace the mind, And renovate its healthy tone, the wise Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise. There is no gloom on earth; for God above Chastens in love, Free from alloy. Transmuting sorrows into golden joy His dearest attribute is still to bless, And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerful. ness. THE HEART'S SANCTUARY. FOR man there still is left one sacred charter ; Victim of care! or persecution's martyr! There is a solemn sanctuary founded By God himself; not for transgressors meant; But that the man oppressed, the spirit wounded, And all beneath the world's injustice bent, Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil and din, To peace within! Andrews Norton. 1786-1853. He has gone THE DEPARTED SPIRIT. to his God; he has gone to his home, No more amid peril and error to roam ; His eyes are no longer dim; No grief can follow him ; There are No pang his cheek can alter. paleness, and weeping, and sighs below; For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow; But the harps of heaven are ringing ; While old friends press to meet him. O! honored, beloved, to earth unconfined, But our parting is not forever, We will follow thee by heaven's light SUBMISSION. My God, I thank Thee! may no thought Thy mercy bids all nature bloom; The sun shines bright, and man is gay ; Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom, That darkens o'er his little day. Full many a throb of grief and pain Thy various messengers employ ; Let kneeling Faith adore Thy will. ON A FRIEND'S DEATH. Dost thou, amid the rapturous glow With which thy soul her welcome hears, Dost thou still think of us below, Of earthly scenes, of human tears? Perhaps e'en now thy thoughts return We framed no light or fruitless talk. How vivid still past scenes appear! We meet again! A little while, And where thou art 1 too shall be ; |