Their sharpness, ere he is awàre. When thoughts
Of the last bitter | hour || come like a blight ▼
Over thy spirit, and sad images

Of the stern ágony, and shroud, and páll,
5 And breathless dárkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at héart ;-
Go forth under the open ský, and list

To Nature's teachings, while from all around—
Earth and her wáters, and the depths of áir,-
10 Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee |
The all-beholding sun || shall see no more |

In all his course; nor yet | in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many téars,
Nor in the embrace of ocean | shall exist

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15 Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall clàim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go l
To mix forever with the elements,

20 To be a brother to the insensible ròck,

And to the sluggish clòd, which the rude swain ||
Turns with his sháre, and trèads upon. The oak l
Shall send his roots abroad. and pierce thy mould,
Yet not to thy eternal resting place I

25 Shalt thou retire alóne,-nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down I'
With patriarchs of the infant wòrld,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers | of ages pást,
30 All in one mighty | sèpulchre.-The hills ||
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sùn,—the vàles ||
Stretching in pensive quietness between ;

The venerable woods,--rivers that move
In májesty, and the complaining bróoks ||

35 That make the meadows gréen; and, poured round áll,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy wáste,-
Are but the solemn decorations | ALL ||
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sùn,
The planets, all the infinite host of hèaven,
40 Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of àges. All that tread
The globe are but a HANDFUL to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.-Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan désert pierce,

Or lose thyself | in the continuous woods ||
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dáshings,-yet-the DEAD || are thère,
And MILLIONS in those solitudes, since first

5 The flight of years | began, have laid them down
In their last sleep,-the dèad | reign there alone.—
So shalt THOU rest;—and what if thou shalt fall |
Unheeded by the living,-and no friend |

Take note of thy departure? All that breathe ||
10 Will share thy destiny. The gay | will laugh |
When thou art góne, the solemn brood of care |
Plod ón, and each one, as befòre, will chase

His favorite phantom; yet all these || shall leave ' Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, 15 And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, mátron, and màid,
The bowed with age, the infant | in the smiles
20 And beauty of its innocent age | cut off,-
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,

By those, who in their turn | shall follow thèm.

Sò live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves

25 To the pale realms of shāde, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed ||
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

30 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch '
About him, and lies down to pléasant drèams.

LESSON XXXV.-TRUST IN GOD.- -Wordsworth.

[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections.]

How beautiful this dome of sky!

And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed

At Thy command, how awful! Shall the soul,
Human and rational, report of Thee

5 Even less than these ?-Be mute who will, who can,
Yet I will praise Thee with impassioned voice:

My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd,

Cannot forget Thee here; where Thou hast built,
For Thy own glory, in the wilderness.

Me didst Thou constitute a priest of thine,
In such a temple as we now behold

5 Reared for Thy presence; therefore am I bound
To worship, here, and everywhere, as one
Not doomed to ignorance, though forced to tread,
From childhood up, the ways of poverty;
From unreflecting ignorance preserved,

10 And from debasement rescued.-By Thy grace
The particle divine remained unquenched;
And, mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil,
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers
From Paradise transplanted. Wintry age
15 Impends; the frost will gather round my heart;
And, if they wither, I am worse than dead.

Come labor, when the worn-out frame requires
Perpetual sabbath; come disease and want,
And sad exclusion through decay of sense;
20 But leave me unabated trust in Thee;
And let Thy favor, to the end of life,
Inspire me with ability to seek

Repose and hope among eternal things,— Father of heaven and earth! and I am rich, 25 And will possess my portion in content.

And what are things eternal ?-Powers depart,
Possessions vanish, and opinions change,
And passions hold a fluctuating seat:
But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken,
30 And subject neither to eclipse nor wane,
Duty exists;-immutably survive,

For our support, the measures and the forms,
Which an abstract Intelligence supplies;

Whose kingdom is where time and space are not: 35 Of other converse, which mind, soul, and heart, Do, with united urgency, require,

What more, that may not perish? Thou, dread Source,
Prime, self-existing Cause and End of all,

That, in the scale of being, fill their place,

40 Above our human region, or below,

Set and sustained ;-Thou,-who didst wrap the cloud
Of infancy around us, that Thyself,

Therein, with our simplicity awhile

Might'st hold, on earth, communion undisturbed,―
Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep,
Or from its death-like void, with punctual care,
And touch as gentle as the morning light,
5 Restor'st us, daily, to the powers of sense,
And reason's steadfast rule,-Thou, Thou alone
Art everlasting.

This universe shall pass away,
-a frame
Glorious! because the shadow of Thy might,-
10 A step, or link, for intercourse with Thee.
Ah! if the time must come, in which my feet
No more shall stray where meditation leads,
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild,
Loved haunts like these, the unimprisoned mind
15 May yet have scope to range among her own,
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires.

If the dear faculty of sight should fail, Still it may be allowed me to remember What visionary powers of eye and soul, 20 In youth, were mine; when, stationed on the top Of some huge hill, expectant, I beheld

The sun rise up, from distant climes returned,
Darkness to chase, and sleep, and bring the day,
His bounteous gift! or saw him, towards the deep
25 Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds

Attended! Then my spirit was entranced
With joy exalted to beatitude;

The measure of my soul was filled with bliss, And holiest love; as earth, sea, air, with light, 30 With pomp, with glory, with magnificence!

LESSON XXXVI.-MEMORY.-W. G. CLARK.

[This piece is designed as an exercise in 'smooth' and 'pure quality' of voice. The suavity of tone, which belongs to gentle and tender emotion, should prevail in the reading of this beautiful composition. A full, clear, but softened note, should be heard, throughout.]

[pu.t.] 'Tis sweet, to remember! I would not forego

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The charm which the Past o'er the Present can throw
For all the gay visions that Fancy may weave

In her web of illusion, that shines to deceive.
We know not the future, the past we have felt;—
Its cherished enjoyments the bosom can melt;

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Its raptures anew o'er our pulses may roll,
When thoughts of the morrow fall cold on the soul.
'T is sweet, to remember! When storms are abroad,
We see in the rainbow, the promise of God:

The day may be darkened,-but far in the West,
In vermilion and gold, sinks the sun to his rest;
With smiles like the morning he passeth away:
Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play,
When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowers,
Which Love scattered round us in happier hours,
'Tis sweet, to remember! When friends are unkind
When their coldness and carelessness shadow the mind,
Then, to draw back the veil which envelopes a land,
Where delectable prospects in beauty expand;
To smell the green fields, the fresh waters to hear,
Whose once fairy music enchanted the ear;
To drink in the smiles that delighted us then,—
To list the fond voices of childhood again,

Oh! this the sad heart, like a reed that is bruised,
Binds up, when the banquet of hope is refused.
'Tis sweet, to remember! And naught can destroy
The balm-breathing comfort, the glory, the joy,
Which spring from that fountain, to gladden our way,
When the changeful and faithless desert or betray.
I would not forget!-though my thoughts should be
dark;

O'er the ocean of life, I look back from my bark,
And see the fair Eden, where once I was blest,
A type and a promise of heavenly rest.

LESSON XXXVII.-OLD IRONSIDES.-O. W. HOLMES.

[This piece is designed as an exercise for cultivating the 'oro tund quality', or full, round, and forcible voice, which belongs to energetic and declamatory expression. A loud, clear, ringing tone, should prevail, throughout the reading or recitation of such pieces.]

[oro. q.] Ay, tear her tatter'd ensign down!

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Long has it waved on high;

And many an eye has danced to see

That banner in the sky;

Beneath it rung the battle shout,

And burst the cannon's roar ;