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Voice of the tomb ! A thousand hearts thy awful notes have stirr'd, A thousand years thy deep-toned summons heard
Sound forth the doom,
“ Man, thou must die !" So, prophet-like, would seem the fearful knell To the chill'd heart th’unerring fate to tell,
All, all must die !"
Stern tolls thy chime;
In life's full prime.
WHERE IS MY GRAVE?
[CHURCH OF ENGLAND MAGAZINE. WHERE is my grave? Mid the silent dead
Ofthe churchyard throng shall I lay my head ? Shall I sleep in peace, amid those who erst, In happier years, my childhood nurstWith th beneath the same green sod, My soul with theirs gone to meet its God?
Where is my grave ? In the vasty deep,
Where is my grave ? Are its dark folds spread
Where is my grave ? ’Neath some foreign sky
Where is my grave? In the burning sand
Where is my grave? It matters not where!
WRITTEN IN A GRAVE-YARD.
SWEET and soothing influence breathes around
The dwellings of the dead. Here on this spot, Where countless generations sleep forgot, Up from the marble tomb and grassy mound There cometh on my ear a peaceful sound, That bids me be contented with my lot, And suffer calmly. Oh! when passions hot, When rage or envy doth my bosom wound; Or wild designs-a fair deceiving trainWreathed in their flowery fetters me enslave; Or keen misfortune's arrowy tempests roll Full on my naked head.-Oh! then again May those still, peaceful accents of the grave, Arise, like slumbering music on my soul.
[WORDSWORTH.] THIS file of Infants ; some that never breathed,
And the besprinkled Nursling, unrequired
The thinking, thoughtless School-boy, the bold Youth
[rev. THOMAS DALE.]
We will not weep for thee :
It is that thou art free.
The tears of love restrain ;
Could wish thee here again?
Triumphant in thy closing eye,
The hope of glory shone,
To think the fight was won.
Sustain’d by grace divine ;
And make my end like thine.
THE ETERNAL SHORE.
(BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.] THE lake lay hid in mist, and to the sand
The little billows hastening silently, Came sparkling on, in many a gladsome band,
Soon as they touch'd the shore, all doom'd to die.
I gazed upon them with a pensive eye, For on that dim and melancholy strand,
I saw the image of man's destiny.
So hurry we right onwards thoughtlessly, Unto the coast of that Eternal Land,
Where, like the worthless billows in their glee, The first faint touch unable to withstand,
We melt at once into eternity.
My awe-struck spirit puts her trust in thee.