I MADE a posie, while the day ran by : My hand was next to them, and then my heart; Yet sugring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, LIFE. GEORGE HERBERT. My life is like the summer rose "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." O, DEEM not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; The Power who pities man has shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light. And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier, Nor let the good man's trust depart, Though life its common gifts deny, Though with a pierced and bleeding heart, And spurned of men, he goes to die. For God hath marked each sorrowing day WILLIAM CULI EN BRYANT. LIFE. THIS life, sae far 's I understand, Is a enchanted fairy land, Where Pleasure is the magic wand, That, wielded right, Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand, Dance by fu' light. The magic wand then let us wield; For, ance that five-an'-forty 's speeled, See crazy, weary, joyless eild, Wi' wrinkled face, Comes hostin', hirplin', owre the field, When ance life's day draws near the gloamin', An' fareweel dear, deluding woman! O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Like school-boys, at the expected warning, We wander there, we wander here, Amang the leaves : And though the puny wound appear, A MEDITATION ON THE FRAILTY OF THIS LIFE. O TRIFLING toys that toss the brains O wished wealth, O sugared joys, Who loathes exchange of loss with gain? What woful wight would wish his woe? O Fancy frail, that feeds on earth, That can contemn such toys! Such toys as neither perfect are, For life is short, and learning long, BUSY, CURIOUS, THIRSTY FLY. [Last verse added by Rev. J. Plumtree.} Both alike are mine and thine, Yet this difference we may see VINCENT BOURNE. THE VANITY OF THE WORLD. FALSE world, thou ly'st thou canst not lend The least delight: Thy favors cannot gain a friend, Thy morning pleasures make an end Poor are the wants that thou supply'st, And yet thou vaunt'st, and yet thou vy'st Thy babbling tongue tells golden tales Thy bounty offers easy sales Of lasting pleasure; Thou ask'st the conscience what she ails, There's none can want where thou supply'st : ly'st. What well-advised car regards What earth can say? Thy words are gold, but thy rewards Thy cunning can but pack the cards, Thy game at weakest, still thou vy'st; Thou art not what thou scem'st; false world, thou ly'st. Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; Is now a shaken shadow intolerable, Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart LINES WRITTEN BY ONE IN THE TOWER, BEING YOUNG AND My prime of youth is but a frost of cares ; And all my good is but vain hope of gain : The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green; My youth is gone, and yet I am but young; I saw the world, and yet I was not seen: I sought my death, and found it in my womb; CHIDIOCK TYCHBORN. LINES WRITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION. E'EN such is time; which takes on trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Which in the dark and silent grave, |