There's beauty in the break of day;
There's glory in the noon-tide ray;

There's sweetness in the twilight shades ; Magnificence in night: thy love

Arched the grand heaven of blue above,
And all our smiling earth pervades.

And if thy glories here be found
Streaming with radiance all around,
What must the fount of glory be?
In Thee we'll hope, in Thee confide,
Thou mercy's never-ebbing tide!
Thou love's unfathomable sea!

UNDEVELOPED GOOD.

THERE is in every human heart
Some not completely barren part,

Where seeds of truth and love might grow,
And flowers of generous virtue blow:
To plant, to watch, to water there—

This, as our duty, be our care!

Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad

In all the robes that Eden had

Or vale o'erspread with streams and trees,

A paradise of mysteries

Plains with green hills adorning them,

Like jewels in a diadem?

These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills,
Which beauty gilds and music fills,
Were once but deserts; culture's hand
Has scattered verdure o'er the land,
And smiles and fragrance rule serene,
Where barren wilds usurped the scene.

And such is man. A soil which breeds
Or sweetest flowers or vilest weeds;
Flowers lovely as the morning's light,
Weeds deadly as the aconite;
Just as his heart is trained to bear
The poisonous weed, or flow'ret fair.

Thy outcast brother's blackest crime
May, in his Maker's eye sublime,
In spite of all thy pride, be less
Than e'en thy daily waywardness;
Than many a sin and many a stain
Forgotten and impressed again.

DESTINY OF THE SOUL.

FROM THE RUSSIAN OF DERZHAVINE.

THE chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit, deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!

A monarch, and a slave! a worm, a god!

Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously
Constructed and conceived! unknown? this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy,
For from itself alone it could not be !

Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me, Thou source of life and good!
Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude,
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,

Even to its source,

to Thee, - its Author there.

-

Alfred Tennyson.

1810.

FROM "IN MEMORIAM."

I.

STRONG Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

Believing where we cannot prove:

Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; Thou madest Life in man and brute; Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die; And Thou hast made him; Thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, Thou: Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them Thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of Thee, And Thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith; we cannot know :
For knowledge is of things we see ;
And yet we trust it comes from Thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;

We mock Thee when we do not fear : But help Thy foolish ones to bear; Help thy vain worlds to bear Thy light.

Forgive what seemed my sin in me;

What seemed my worth since I began:
For merit lives from man to man,

And not from man, O Lord, to Thee.