AS

TIME'S BOOK.

S Time one day by me did pass,
Through a large dusky glass
He held, I chanced to look,

And spied his curious book

Of past days, where sad Heaven did shed A mourning light upon the dead.

Many disordered lives I saw,

And foul records, which thaw
My kind eyes still; but in

A fair, white page of thin

And even, smooth lines, like the sun's rays, Thy name was writ and all thy days.

O bright and happy kalendar!

Where youth shines like a star,
All pearled with tears, and may
Teach age the holy way;

Where, through thick pangs, high agonies,
Faith into life breaks, and death dies.

As some meek night-piece which day quails,

To candle-light unveils,

So, by one beamy line

From thy bright lamp, did shine,

In the same page, thy humble grave

Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave.

Here slept my thought's dear mark! which dust
Seemed to devour like rust;

But dust, I did observe,

By hiding doth preserve;

As we, for long and sure recruits,
Candy with sugar our choice fruits.

O calm and sacred bed, where lies,
In death's dark mysteries,

A beauty far more bright

Than the noon's cloudless light!
For whose dry dust green branches bud,
And robes are bleached in the Lamb's blood.

Sleep, happy ashes!-blessed sleep!
While hapless I still weep;

Weep that I have out-lived
My life, and unrelieved

Must, soulless shadow, so live on,

Though life be dead, and my joys gone.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

CONSOLATIONS IN BEREAVEMENT.

DEATH

EATH was full urgent with thee, Sister dear,
And startling in his speed ;-

Brief pain, then languor till thy end came near-
Such was the path decreed,

The hurried road

To lead thy soul from earth to thine own God's abode.

Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently:
Yet merciful the haste

That baffles sickness ;- dearest, thou didst die,
Thou wast not made to taste

Death's bitterness,

:

Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce distress.

Death came unheralded :-but it was well;
For so thy Saviour bore

Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell
On his eternal shore ;

All warning spared,

For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change prepared.

Death wrought in mystery; both complaint and cure
To human skill unknown :

God put aside all means, to make us sure
It was his deed alone;

Lest we should lay

Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast caught away.

Death urged as scant of time :-lest, Sister dear,
We many a lingering day

Had sickened with alternate hope and fear,

The ague of delay

Watching each spark

Of promise quenched in turn, till all our sky was dark.

Death came and went :-that so thy image might
Our yearning hearts possess,

Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright,
With youth and loveliness;
Sorrow can claim,

Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name.

Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes!
Dearest, thou art enshrined

In all thy fragrance in our memories;
For we must ever find

Bare thought of thee

Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall be.

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

LIFE and Thought have gone away

Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide:

Careless tenants they !

All within is dark as night:
In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or thro' the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark deserted house.

Come away: no more of mirth

Is here, or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.

Come away; for Life and Thought
Here no longer dwell:

But in a city glorious

A great and distant city-have bought

A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

FEAR OF DEATH.

INCE Nature's works be good, and death doth

SINCE

serve

As Nature's work, why should we fear to die? Since fear is vain but when it may preserve,

Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? Fear is more pain than is the pain ́it fears, Disarming human minds of native might; While each conceit an ugly figure bears

Which were not evil, well viewed in reason's light. Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be, And scarce discern the dawn of coming day, Let them be cleared, and now begin to see

Our life is but a step in dusty way.

Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind;
Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find.
SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

S