Which tracing backward till its airy lines
Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes
O'er broad façade and lofty pediment,
O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche,
Up the stone lace-work, chiseled by the wise
Erwin of Steinbach, dizzily up to where

In the noon brightness the great minster's tower,
Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown,
Rose like a visible prayer. "Behold!" he said,
"The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes!
As yonder tower outstretches to the earth
The dark triangle of its shade alone
When the clear day is shining on its top,
So darkness in the pathway of man's life
Is but the shadow of God's providence,
By the great sun of wisdom cast thereon;
And what is dark below is light in heaven!

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.

A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN.

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest Angel gently comes;
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again,
And yet, in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.

There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance;
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,

Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure,
He kindly learns us to endure.

Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brow with cooling balm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
And throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!

Oh! thou, who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day,
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers," Be resigned!
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell

The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

Robert Nicoll.

1814-1837.

LINES WRITTEN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.*

THE dew is on the summer's greenest grass,
Through which the modest daisy blushing peeps;
The gentle wind that like a ghost doth pass,
A waving shadow on the corn-field keeps;
But I who love them all shall never be

Again among the woods, or on the moorland lea!

The sun shines sweetly sweeter may it shine!-
Blessed is the brightness of a summer day;
It cheers lone hearts; and why should I repine,

Although among green fields I cannot stray! Woods! I have grown, since last I heard you wave, Familiar now with death, and neighbor to the grave!

It is believed that this was the last, or among the very last, of Nicoll's compositions.

These woods have shaken mighty human souls
Like a sepulchral echo drear they sound
E'en as the owl's wild whoop at midnight rolls
The ivied remnants of old ruins round.
Yet wherefore tremble? Can the soul decay?
Or that which thinks and feels, in aught e'er fade
away?

Are there not aspirations in each heart,
After a better, brighter world than this?
Longings for beings nobler in each part-
Things more exalted

steeped in deeper bliss?

Who gave us these? What are they? Soul! in thee The bud is budding now for immortality!

Death comes to take me where I long to be;

One pang, and then bright blooms th' immortal flower;

Death comes to lead me from mortality

To lands which know not one unhappy hour:

I have a hope a faith; from sorrow here

I'm led by death away - why should I start and fear?

If I have loved the forest and the field,

Can I not love them deeper, better, there?

If all that power hath made, to me doth yield

Something of good and beauty — something fair

Freed from the grossness of mortality,

May I not love them all, and better all enjoy!

A change from woe to joy from earth to heaven Death gives me this; - it leads me calmly where The souls that long ago from mine were riven

May meet again! Death answers many a prayer. Bright day! shine on- be glad :- days brighter far Are stretched before my eyes than those of mortals are.

I would be laid among the wildest flowers,

I would be laid where happy hearts can come :
The worthless clay I heed not; but in hours
Of gushing noontide joy, it may be, some
Will dwell upon my name; and I will be
A happy spirit there, affection's look to see.

Death is upon me, yet I fear not now:

Open my chamber-window - let me look

That fills each alley, close, and copsewood nook: I know them - love them — mourn not them to leave; Existence and its change my spirit cannot grieve!