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when nature meets thee in all its magnificence or beauty, thy heart humbleth itself in adoration before the hand which made it, and rejoiceth in the contemplation of the wisdom by which it is maintained; if, when revelation unvails her mercies, and the Son of God comes forth to give peace and hope to fallen man, thine eye follows with astonishment the glories of his path, and pours at last over his cross those pious tears which it is a delight to shed; if thy soul accompanieth him in his triumph over the grave, and entereth on the wings of faith into that heaven "where he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on High," and seeth the "society of angels and of the spirits of just men made perfect," and listeneth to the "everlasting song which is sung before the throne;" if such are the meditations in which thy youthful hours are passed, renounce not, for all that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys.

The world which is before thee, the world which thine imagination paints in such brightness, has no pleasures to bestow that can compare with these. And all that its boasted wisdom can produce, has nothing so acceptable in the sight of Heaven, as this pure offering of thy soul. In these days, "the Lord himself is thy shepherd, and thou dost not want. Amid the green pastures, and by the still waters" of youth, he now makes "thy soul to repose."

But the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials; the evil days are on the wing, when" thou shalt say thou hast no pleasure in them ;" and, as thy steps advance," the valley of the shadow of death opens," through which thou must pass at last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to "remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." In these days of trial or of awe, "his Spirit shall be with you," and thou shalt fear no ill; and, amid every evil which surrounds you, "he shall restore thy soul. His goodness and mercy shall follow thee all the days of thy life;" and when at last the "silver cord is loosed, thy spirit shall return to the God who gave it, and thou shalt dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."




REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth,

While the evil days come not,

Nor the years draw nigh,

When thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.

While the sun, or the light,

Or the moon, or the stars, be not darkened,

Nor the clouds return after a rain:

In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble,

And the strong men shall bow themselves,

And the grinders shall cease because they are few,

And those that look out of the windows be darkened;
And the doors shall be shut in the streets,

When the sound of the grinding is low,

And he shall rise up at the voice of the bird,

And all the daughters of music shall be brought low:

Also when they shall be afraid of that which is high, And fears shall be in the way,

And the almond tree shall flourish,

And the grasshopper shall be a burden,

And desire shall fail: because man goeth to his long home And the mourners go about the streets.

Or ever the silver cord be loosed,

Or the golden bowl be broken,

Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain,

Or the wheel broken at the cistern.

Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was,
And the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.


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They that seek me early shall find me."

COME, while the blossoms of thy years are brightest,
Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery maze,
Come, while the restless heart is bounding lightest.
And joy's pure sunbeams tremble in thy ways;
Come, while sweet thoughts, like summer-buds unfolding,
Waken rich feelings in the careless breast,

While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is holding,
Come, and secure interminable rest.

Soon will the freshness of thy days be over,

And thy free buoyancy of soul be flown;
Pleasure will fold her wing, and friend and lover
Will to the embraces of the worm have gone ;
Those who now love thee, will have passed forever;
Their looks of kindness will be lost to thee;
Thou wilt need balm to heal thy spirit's fever,
As thy sick heart broods over years to be.

Come, while the morning of thy life is glowing,
Ere the dim phantoms thou art chasing, die;
Ere the gay spell which earth is round thee throwing,
Fades like the crimson from a sunset sky :
Life hath but shadows, save a promise given,
Which lights the future with a fadeless ray;
Oh, touch the scepter! win a hope in heaven;
Come, turn thy spirit from the world away!

Then will the crosses of this brief existence
Seem airy nothings to thine ardent soul,
And shining brightly in the forward distance,
Will of thy patient race appear the goal:
Home of the weary! where in peace reposing,
The spirit lingers in unclouded bliss,

Though o'er its dust the curtained grave is closing;
Who would not, early, choose a lot like this?




A Scene of the French Revolution.
SCENE. Prison of the Luxembourg.

D'AUBIGNE, an aged royalist, and BLANCHE, his daughter.
Blanche. WHAT was our doom, my father? In thine arms

I lay unconsciously through that dread hour.

Tell me the sentence. Could our judges look

Without relenting, on thy silvery hair?

Was there not mercy, father? Will they not
Restore us to our home?

D'Aubigne. Yes, my poor child!

They send us home.


Oh! shall we gaze again

On the bright Loire? Will the old hamlet spire,

And the gray turret of our own chateau,
Look forth to greet us through the dusky elms?
Will the kind voices of our villagers,

The loving laughter in their children's eyes,
Welcome us back at last? But how is this?
Father! thy glance is clouded; on thy brow
There sits no joy!

D'A. Upon my brow, dear girl,

There sits, I trust, such deep and solemn peace
As may befit the Christian, who receives

And recognizes, in submissive awe,

The summons of his God.

B. Thou dost not mean

No, no! it cannot be!

They sent us home?

Didst thou not say,

D'A. Where is the spirit's home?

Oh! most of all, in these dark, evil days,
Where should it be, but in that world serene,

Beyond the sword's reach, and the tempest's power?
Where, but in heaven?

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We must look up to God, and calmly die.

Come to my heart, and weep there! For awhile,
Give nature's passion way, then brightly rise

In the still courage of a woman's heart.

Do I not know thee?

Do I ask too much

From mine own noble Blanche?

B. Oh! clasp me fast!

Thy trembling child! Hide, hide me in thine arms! Father!

D'A. Alas! my flower, thou'rt young to go; Young, and so fair! Yet were it worse, methinks, To leave thee where the gentle and the brave, And they that love their God, have all been swept, Like the sear leaves away. The soil is steeped In noble blood, the temples are gone down; The sound of prayer is hushed, or fearfully Muttered, like sounds of guilt. Why, who would live Who hath not panted, as a dove, to flee,

To quit forever the dishonored soil,

The burdened air? Our God upon the cross,
Our king upon the scaffold; let us think
Of these, and fold endurance to our hearts,
And bravely die!


A dark and fearful way!

An evil doom for thy dear honored head!

Oh! thou, the kind, and gracious! whom all eyes Blessed, as they looked upon! Speak yet again! Say, will they part us?

D'A. No, my Blanche; in death We shall not be divided.

B. Thanks to God!

He, by thy glance, will aid me.

I shall see

His light before me to the last.

And when

Oh! pardon these weak shrinkings of thy child!
When shall the hour befall?

D'A. Oh! swiftly now,

And suddenly, with brief, dread interval,

Comes down the mortal stroke.

But of that hour

As yet I know not. Each low, throbbing pulse
Of the quick pendulum may usher in


B. My father! lay thy hand

On thy poor Blanche's head, and once again
Bless her with thy deep voice of tenderness,
Thus breathing saintly courage through her soul
Ere we are called.

D'.A. If I may speak through tears,
Well may I bless thee, fondly, fervently,
Child of my heart!-thou who dost look on me
With thy lost mother's angel eyes of love!
Thou that hast been a brightness in my path,
A guest of Heaven unto my lonely soul,
A stainless lily in my widowed house,

There springing up, with soft light round thee shed,
For immortality! Meek child of God!

I bless thee! He will bless thee! In his love
He calls thee now from this rude, stormy world,
To thy Redeemer's breast. And thou wilt die,
As thou hast lived, my duteous, holy Blanche,
In trusting and serene submissiveness,
Humble, yet full of heaven.

B. Now is there strength

Infused through all my spirit. I can rise
And say, "Thy will be done!"

D'A. Seest thou, my child,

Yon faint light in the west? The signal star

Of our due evening service, gleaming in

Through the close dungeon grating? Mournfully

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