Life, with its glory, glides away,
And the stern footsteps of decay
Come stealing on.

And while we eye the rolling tide,
Down which our flowing minutes glide
Away so fast,

Let us the present hour employ,
And deem each future dream of joy
Already past.

Let no vain hope deceive the mind-
No happier let us hope to find

To-morrow than to-day.

Our golden dreams of yore were bright; Like them, the present shall delightLike them, decay.

Our lives like hasting streams must be, That into one engulfing sea

Are doom'd to fall

The sea of death, whose waves roll on
O'er king and kingdom, crown and throne,
And swallow all

Alike the river's lordly tide,

Alike the humble riv'let's, glide

To that sad wave;

Death levels property and pride,
And rich and poor sleep side by side
Within the grave.

Our birth is but the starting-place,
Life is the running of the race,

And death the goal:

There all those glittering toys are brought;
The path alone, of all unsought,
Is found of all.

Say, then, how poor and little worth
Are all those glittering toys of earth
That lure us here!

Dreams of a sleep that death must break,
Alas! before it bids us wake,
Ye disappear!

H. A. P. from the Spanish.

226. LIFE. Caravan of

WHERE pilgrims seek the Prophet's tomb
Across the Arabian waste,

Upon the ever-shifting sands
A fearful path is traced.

Far up to the horizon's verge,

The traveller sees it rise

A line of ghastly bones that bleach Beneath those burning skies.

Across it tempest and simoom
The desert-sands have strew'd,
But still that line of spectral white
For ever is renew'd.

For while along the burning track
The caravans move on,
Still do the way-worn pilgrims fall
Ere yet the shrine be won.

There the tired camel lays him down
And shuts his gentle eyes;
And there the fiery rider droops,
Toward Mecca looks, and dies.
They fall unheeded from the ranks :
On sweeps the endless train ;
But there, to mark the desert path,
Their whitening bones remain.
And thus I read the mournful tale
Upon the traveller's page,

I thought how like the march of life
Is this sad pilgrimage.

For every heart hath some fair dream,
Some object unattain'd,

And far off in the distance lies
Some Mecca to be gain'd.

But beauty, manhood, love, and power
Go in their morning down,

And longing eyes and outstretch'd arms
Tell of the goal unwon.

The mighty caravan of life

Above their dust may sweep,

Nor shout nor trampling feet shall break
The rest of those who sleep.-Anne Lynch.

2227. LIFE: characterized.

MAN'S life's a tragedy; his mother's womb,
From which he enters, is the tiring-room;
This spacious earth the theatre; the stage
That country which he lives in: passions, rage,
Folly, and vice are actors; the first cry
The prologue to the ensuing tragedy.
The former act consisteth in dumb shows;
The second he to more perfection grows;
I' th' third he is a man, and doth begin
To nurture vice, and act the deeds of sin :
I' th' fourth declines: i' th' fifth diseases clog
And trouble him; then death's the epilogue.

Raleigh.

Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.-Shakespeare.

Life is a weary interlude,

Which doth short joys, long woes include:
The world the stage, the prologue tears,
The acts vain hopes and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no epilogue but death.-King.

Thy life's a warfare, thou a soldier art,
Satan's thy foeman, and a faithful heart
Thy two-edged weapon, patience thy shield,
Heaven is thy chieftain, and the world thy field.
To be afraid to die, or wish for death,

Are words and passions of despairing breath :
Who doth the first, the day doth faintly yield;
And who the second, basely flies the field.

Quarles.

When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat,
Yet, fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit ;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day;
Lies more, and while it says we shall be bless'd
With some new joys, cuts off what we possess'd.
Strange coz'nage! none would live past years again,
Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain ;
And from the dregs of life think to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give.
I'm tired of waiting for this chymic gold,
Which fools us young, and beggars us when old.
Dryden.

Is a long journey in December gone,
Tedious and full of tribulation.-Decker.

2230. LIFE. Days of

THE days of life are sisters; all alike;
None just the same; which serve to fool us on,
Through blasted hopes, with change of fallacy;
While joy is, like to-morrow, still to come:
Nor ends the fruitless chase but in the grave.
Young.

2231. LIFE. Decline of

WHEN men once reach their autumn, sickly joys
Fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees,
At every little breath misfortune blows;
Till left quite naked of their happiness,
In the chill blasts of winter they expire:
This is the common lot.-Young.

Summer ebbs; each day that follows
Is a reflex from on high,
Tending to the darksome hollows

Where the frosts of winter lie.
He who governs the creation,
In His providence, assign'd
Such a gradual declination

To the life of humankind.
Yet we mark it not; fruits redden,

Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown,
And the heart is loath to deaden
Hopes that she so long hath known.

2232. LIFE. Destinies of

Wordsworth.

KNOW well, my soul, God's hand controls Whate'er thou fearest ;

Round Him in calmest music rolls

Whate'er thou hearest.

What to thee is shadow, to Him is day,
And the end He knoweth,

And not on a blind and aimless way
The spirit goeth.

Man sees no future-a phantom show
Is alone before him :

Past Time is dead and the grasses grow,
And flowers bloom o'er him.

Nothing before, nothing behind;

The steps of Faith

Fall on the seeming void, and find

The rock beneath.

The Present, the Present is all thou hast
For thy sure possessing;

Like the patriarch's angel, hold it fast
Till it gives its blessing.

Why fear the night? why shrink from Death,
That phantom wan?

There is nothing in heaven or earth beneath, Save God and man.

2235. LIFE. Emblems of

A FLOWER that does with opening morn arise,
And, flourishing the day, at evening dies;
A winged eastern blast, but skimming o'er
The ocean's brow, and sinking on the shore;
A fire, whose flames through crackling stubble fly,
A meteor shooting from the summer sky;
A bowl adown the bending mountain roll'd;
A bubble breaking, and a fable told;

A noontide shadow, and a midnight dream;
Are emblems which, with semblance apt, proclaim
Our earthly course.-Prior.

2236. LIFE. Epitome of

DAY dawn'd; within a curtain'd room,
Fill'd to faintness with perfume,

A lady lay at point of doom.

Day closed; a child had seen the light:
But, for the lady fair and bright,
She rested in undreaming night.

Spring rose; the lady's grave was green;
And near it, oftentimes, was seen

A gentle boy with thoughtful mien.
Years fled; he wore a manly face,
And struggled in the world's rough race,
And won at last a lofty place.

And then he died! behold before ye
Humanity's poor sum and story;

Life-Death-and all that is of Glory.-Procter.

2237. LIFE. Eternal

A LIFE of honour and of worth

Has no eternity on earth,

'Tis but a name;

And yet its glory far exceeds

That base and sensual life, which leads To want and shame.

The eternal life beyond the sky
Wealth cannot purchase, nor the high
And proud estate :

The soul in dalliance laid, the spirit
Corrupt with sin, shall not inherit
A joy so great.

Manrique, tr. by Longfellow.

2238. LIFE: full of care.

By day or night,

In florid youth, or mellow age, scarce fleets
One hour without its care! not sleep itself
Is ever balmy; for the shadowy dream
Oft bears substantial woe.-Smollett.

2239. LIFE: glides away imperceptibly. AH! what is human life?

How, like the dial's tardy moving shade, Day after day slides from us unperceived! The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth; Too subtle is the movement to be seen;

We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, If they lay in sight;

We should trample the pride and the discontent
Beneath our feet;

We should take whatever a good God sent
With a trust complete!

In the same brook, none ever bathed him twice:
To the same life, none ever twice awoke.

We call the brook the same; the same we think
Our life, though still more rapid in its flow;
Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed,
And mingled with the sea.— Young.

2240. LIFE. Godly

He lives who lives to God alone,
And all are dead beside;

For other source than God is none
Whence life can be supplied.

To live to God is to requite

His love as best we may ;

To make His precepts our delight,
His promises our stay.

But life within a narrow ring

Of giddy joys comprised,

Is falsely named, and no such thing, But rather death disguised.-Cowper.

2241. LIFE: how it is made up.

LOVE, hope, and joy, fair pleasure's smiling train;
Hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain;
These, mix'd with art, and to due bounds confined,
Make and maintain the balance of the mind;
The lights and shades whose well-accorded strife
Gives all the strength and colour of our life.-Pope.

To know, to esteem, to love,—and then to part,
Make up life's tale to many a feeling heart.

Coleridge.

2242. LIFE: how it should be spent.
WE should fill the hours with the sweetest things
If we had but a day;

We should drink alone at the purest springs
In our upward way;

We should love with a life-time's love in an hour,
If our hours were few!

We should rest, not for dreams, but for fresher power

To be and to do.

We should bind our weary and wanton wills To the clearest light:

Be patient-life is very brief,

It passes quickly by,

And if it prove a troubled scene
Beneath a stormy sky,

It is but like a shaded night

That brings a morn of radiance bright.

Be hopeful—cheerful faith will bring
A living joy to thee,

And make thy life a hymn of praise
From doubt and murmur free ;
Whilst, like the sunbeam, thou wilt bless
And bring to others happiness.

Be earnest-an immortal soul
Should be a worker true;
Employ thy talents for thy God,

And ever keep in view

The judgment scene, the last great day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away.

Be holy-let not sin's dark stain

Thy spirit's whiteness dim;
Keep close to God amid the world,
And put thy trust in Him.
So, midst thy business and thy rest,
Thou wilt be comforted and blest.

Be prayerful-ask, and thou wilt have
Strength equal to thy day;

Prayer clasps the hand that guides the world,

Oh, make it thou thy stay.

Ask largely, and thy God will be

A kingly giver unto thee.

The small frail flower which grows beneath,
Then drooping, shuts its languid eye;
A tale repeated round the hearth,
Made half of mourning, half of mirth;
A bubble, bursting in the light;
A meteor, streaming in the night;
A dream, a tear, a smile, a sigh,
A breath-the breath of Deity!
A tale? Yes, one that's quivering
On every raptured seraph's string,
Since this poor clay enshrined a God;
And the lone path, so meekly trod,
Adoring, wonderingly they've traced,
Through all our misery-haunted waste.
Oh, that can be no trivial thing,
However rapidly it fly,

Which bears our souls upon its wing,

And fashions our eternity!

Though small the seedling, from it grow Heaven's boundless bliss, and hell's black woe.

Emily Judson.

2245. LIFE. Influence of temper on

ON their life no grievous burden lies, Who are well-natured, temperate, and wise: But an inhuman and ill-temper'd mind Not any easy part in life can find.-Denham.

2246. LIFE: is what we make it.

THE world is all dark, or the world is all bright,
Just as we choose to make it ;

Our burden is heavy, our burden is light,
Just as we happen to take it ;

And people who grumble and people who groan
At the world and its every proposal,
Would grumble and groan if the world were their

own,

With the sun, moon, and stars at disposal.

It is all very well to have beauty and health,
But if ugly and sick, we must bear it ;

It is all very well to have oceans of wealth,
Though we find, if we must, we can spare it ;
But healthy and wealthy, or sickly and poor,
We are wise to be careless and happy,'
And gracefully try all our ills to endure,
Though we try till we're 'hairless and cappy.'

In the Broadway of life, though we're jostled and torn,

There's a 'Beautiful Gate,' at whose portal The robes of the great, like the wearied and worn, Must be changed for the garments immortal; And knocks he a beggar, or knocks he a kingTo the Master but little it matters

Be his heart but in tune, he may enter and sing,
Though his raiment be sables or tatters.

Not all can be noble, not all can be great,

But our lives with God's love we can leaven; And whether of high or of lowly estate,

'Tis the same to our Father in heaven.

The world may seem dark or the world may seem light

As we cling to the old, old story,

And cheerfully work, with our lamps burning bright, Till we enter the portals of glory.—H. F. H. S.

2247. LIFE. Island of

OPENING the map of God's expansive plan,
We find a little isle, this life of man;
Eternity's unknown expanse appears
Circling around, and limiting his years.
The busy race examine and explore
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore,
With care collect what in their eyes excels,
Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells;
Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great,
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight.
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play,
And every hour sweeps multitudes away;
They shriek and sink-survivors start and weep,
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.

Cowper.

2248. LIFE: its beginnings. HARD are life's early steps; and but that youth Is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, Men would behold its threshold and despair.

Miss Landon.

Few know of life's beginnings-men behold
The good achieved; the warrior, when his sword
Flashes red triumph in the noon-day sun;
The poet, when his lyre hangs on the palm ;
The statesman, when the crowd proclaim his voice,
And mould opinion on his gifted tongue;
They count not life's first steps, and never think
Upon the many miserable hours

When hope deferr'd was sickness to the heart.
Miss Landon.

2249. LIFE: its blessings slighted.
WE slight the gifts that every season bears,
And let them fall unheeded from our grasp,
In our great eagerness to reach and clasp
The promised treasure of the coming years;

Or else we mourn some great good pass'd away,
And, in the shadow of our grief shut in,
Refuse the lesser good we yet might win,
The offer'd peace and gladness of to-day.