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Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-
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 tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ;

Yet not to thy eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings,
The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales,
Streching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty; and the complaining brooks,
That make the meadow green; and, poured round all
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. 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 desert pierce;
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings; yet -- the dead are there;

And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone.

So shalt thou rest; and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. 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, matron, and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
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 them.

So live, that, when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade, 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, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

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That is undoubtedly the wisest and best regimen, which takes the infant from the cradle, and conducts him along, through childhood and youth, up to high maturity, in such a manner as to give strength to his arm, swiftness to his feet, solidity and amplitude to his muscles, symmetry to his frame, and expansion to his vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of education comprehends, not only food and clothing, but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else is requisite to the full development of the physical constitution. The diet must be simple, the apparel must not be too warm, nor the bed too soft.

Let parents beware of too much restriction in the management of their darling boy. Let him, in choosing his play, follow the suggestions of nature. Let them not be discomposed at the sight of his sand hills in the road, his snow forts in February, and his mud dams in April: nor when they chance to look out in the midst of an August shower, and see him wading, and sailing, and sporting along with the water fowl. If they would make him hardy and fearless, they must let him go abroad as often as he pleases, in his early boyhood, and amuse himself by the hour together, in smoothing and twirling the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him shut up all day with a stove, and graduating his sleeping room by Fahrenheit, they must let him face the keen edge of a north wind, when



the mercury is below cipher, and, instead of minding a little shivering and complaining when he returns, cheer up his spirits and send him out again. In this way, they will teach him that he was not born to live in a nursery, nor to brood over the fire; but to range abroad, as free as the snow and the air, and to gain warmth from exercise.

I love and admire the youth who turns not back froin the howling wintry blast, nor withers under the blaze of summer; who never magnifies “mole-hills into mountains; but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the eagle's airy crag, and who is ready to undertake any thing that is prudent and lawful, within the range of possibility. Who would think of planting the mountain oak in a green-house? or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon in a lady's flower-pot? Who does not know, that, in order to attain their mighty strength and majestic forms, they must freely enjoy the rain and the sunshine, and must feel the rocking of the tempest?



GENTLY, sister ! thy beauteous child

Heeds not thy bitter weeping;
Not floods of tears, nor wailings wild,

Can move his silent sleeping :
Like passing dream his spirit came,
And ere it burned, expired the flame.

How sadly now his brilliant eye

With lifeless lid is shaded !
The death-drops on his forehead lie,

His ruddy cheek, - how faded !
But yet a smile is on thy boy,
As erst it gave his mother joy.

Thy heart alone its anguish knows,

Nor can thy grief be spoken;
That bitter moan too truly shows

That “golden bowl” is broken !
Nor would I quell affection's grief,
For 'tis the soul's most sweet relief.

Yet listen, sister! while I lave

The swelling tide of sorrow,
For rests thy babe within its grave

Ere sets the sun to-morrow;
And then, no more its form we see,
Till death shall call for thee and me.

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