LIFE.

Thou art every where about me,
And I would not be without thee.

Strength give! strength giving Demon,
Make me thy faithful leman.

With soft wings around me fly,
While I live, and when I die,

So that Life may never be
A mere holiday for me;

So that Death, when it shall come,
Shall be shorn of wo and gloom.

63

LINES TO A DEAR FRIEND.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

It is not long we two may walk
Beside each other, on Life's way;
A few more hours of pleasant talk—
Perhaps but one more happy day—
And I and thou must part, and one
Must lie beneath the cold tomb-stone.

God grant it be not thou! thou art
To many a spirit like sun-light;
And earth hath not a kindlier heart,

A soul more pure and bright.

And many a heart would weep if thou should go, And many an eye grow dim to see thee low.

I might be better spared; and if I must
Before thee Death's dark valley pass,
Tho' nothing tell where sleeps my dust,

Save a few flowers-the waving grass;

LINES TO A DEAR FRIEND.

65

If in thy memory's dream my form is blent,
I envy not the Pharaoh's monument.

Place shall within thy holy heart
My memory from oblivion save;

And if for me a tear should start,

Oh! let it fall upon my grave,

And there shall spring from sod by such tears wet, Sweet modest flowers-the rose, the violet.

"TRUST IN THYSELF.”

Ан me! methinks no vain and idle teaching
Rests in the meaning of this little line;
Nay, well I feel that in it God is preaching

To his own offspring, this strong soul of mine.

Trust in the God-like placed within thy bosom,

(So speaketh conscience to my wavering heart,) Scorn with heaven's scorn whatever be not truthsome,

And thou shalt know how great a one thou art.

Strange is the volume, mighty and mysterious,

All must read in who well would act their part; Yet God commands with will kind yet imperious, "Read ye my lessons in your God-made hearts."

Year after year must onward still be flying,

Black locks be thinned and turned to silver

white;

(C TRUST IN THYSELF.”

67

Something we all must taste of gloomsome dying, Ere we may read these souls of ours aright.

And yet each day that followeth the other,
We may learn something of the mighty task.
Oh! that we may not each good impulse smother!
Oh! that we may not aid from brothers ask!

Strong in the might of our own heavenly spirit, With lynx-eye searching for the good always, God! Father! grant in time we may inherit,

The good reward of watchful nights and days.