Ye winds that have made me your sport, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O, tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. And mercy encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot. WILLIAM COWPER. THE GOOD GREAT MAN. How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits For shame, my friend! renounce this idle strain! And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath; And three fast friends, more sure than day or night, Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. EXAMPLE. WE scatter seeds with careless hand, And dream we ne'er shall see them more; But for a thousand years Their fruit appears, In weeds that mar the land, Or healthful store. THE SEASIDE WELL. "Waters flowed over my head; then I said, I am cut off.” — Lamentations, iii. 54. ONE day I wandered where the salt sea-tide Backward had drawn its wave, And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside To wild-flowers gave. And what if Nature's fearful wound They did not probe and bare, To watch the misery there, For that their love but flowed more fast, Their charities more free, Not conscious what mere drops they cast Into the evil sea. A man's best things are nearest him, It is the distant and the dim That we are sick to greet; For flowers that grow our hands beneath We struggle and aspire, Our hearts must die, except they breathe The air of fresh desire. Yet, brothers, who up reason's hill Advance with hopeful cheer, Oh, loiter not, those heights are chill, As chill as they are clear; RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON. HISTORY OF A LIFE. DAY dawned; within a curtained room, Day closed; - a Child had seen the light: Spring rose; the lady's grave was green; Years fled; - he wore a manly face, And then he died! Behold before ye BRYAN WALLER PROCTER (Barry Cornwall). THE ROSE-BUSH. A CHILD sleeps under a rose-bush fair, A Maiden stands by the rose-bush fair, A Mother kneels by the rose-bush fair, Naked and lone stands the rose-bush fair, From the German, by WILLIAM W. CALDWELL. LIFE. I MADE a posie, while the day ran by : My hand was next to them, and then my heart; Farewell, dear flowers! sweetly your time ye spent ; Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, I follow straight without complaints or grief; GEORGE HERBERT. THE RIVER OF LIFE. THE more we live, more brief appear The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. |