Yes! the young vernal voices, in the skies

Woo me not back, but, wandering past mine

ear,

Seem heralds of the eternal melodies,

The spirit-music, imperturbed and clear; The full of soul, yet passionate no more, Let me too, joining those pure strains, adore! I bless thee, O my God!

Now aid, sustain me still! — to thee I come.

Make thou my dwelling where thy children are; And for the hope of that immortal home,

And for thy Son, the bright and morning star, The sufferer and the victor-king of death, I bless thee with my glad song's dying breath! I bless thee, O my God!

"LIVING OR DYING, LORD, I WOULD BE THINE.” PARAPHRASED FROM FÉNÉLON.

LIVING or dying, Lord, I would be thine!
O what is life?

A toil, a strife,

Were it not lighted by thy love divine.
I ask not wealth,-

I crave not health,

Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine!

ON

O what is death?

When the poor breath

In parting can the soul to thee resign;
While patient love

Her trust doth prove.

Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine!

Throughout my days,

Be constant praise

Uplift to thee from out this heart of mine:
So shall I be

Brought nearer thee.

Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine!

ON

R. M. MILNES.

GENTLY supported on the ready aid
Of loving hands, whose little work of toil
Her grateful prodigality repaid

With all the benediction of her smile,

She turned her failing feet

To the soft-pillowed seat,

Dispensing kindly greetings all the while.

Before the tranquil beauty of her face
I bowed in spirit, thinking that she were

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A suffering Angel, whom the special grace

Of God intrusted to our pious care,
That we might learn from her
The art to minister

To heavenly beings in seraphic air.

There seemed to lie a weight upon her brain That ever pressed her blue-veined eyelids down, But could not dim her lustrous eyes with pain, Nor seam her forehead with the faintest frown: She was as she were proud,

So young, to be allowed

To follow Him who wore the thorny crown.

Nor was she sad, but over every mood
To which her lightly-pliant mind gave birth,
Gracefully changing, did a spirit brood
Of quiet gayety and serenest mirth;
And thus her voice did flow

So beautifully low,

A stream whose music was no thing of earth.

Now long that instrument has ceased to sound, Now long that gracious form in earth has lain Tended by nature only, and unwound

Are all those mingled threads of love and pain; So let me weep, and bend

My head and wait the end,

Knowing that God creates not thus in vain.

FRAGMENT.

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FRAGMENT FOUND IN A SKELETON-CASE.

ANONYMOUS.

BEHOLD this ruin! 't is a skull,
Once of ethereal spirit full.

This narrow cell was life's retreat;

This space was thought's mysterious seat.
What beauteous pictures filled this spot!
What dreams of pleasure, long forgot!
Nor grief nor joy, nor hope nor fear,
Has left one trace or record here!

Beneath this mouldering canopy
Once shone the bright and busy eye.
Yet start not at that dismal void :
If social love that eye employed,
If with no lawless fire it gleamed,
But with the dew of kindness beamed,
That eye shall be for ever bright
When stars and suns have lost their light.

Here, in this silent cavern, hung

The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue.
If falsehood's honey it disdained,

And, where it could not praise, was chained,
If bold in virtue's cause it spoke,

Yet gentle concord never broke,

That tuneful tongue shall plead for thee When death unveils eternity!

Say, did these fingers delve the mine
Or with its envied rubies shine?
To hew the rock or wear the gem
Can nothing now avail to them.
But if the page of truth they sought,
And comfort to the mourners brought,
These hands a richer meed shall claim
Than all that waits on wealth or fame!

Avails it whether bare or shod

Those feet the paths of duty trod?
If from the bowers of joy they sped
To soothe affliction's humble bed,
If grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned,
And home to virtue's lap returned,
Those feet with angels' wings shall vie,
And tread the palace of the sky!