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Ah then, I said, if death be only this

Through the dark hills a channel short and wide, That leads to sunshine on the other sideThen better than the best of life it is

To die.

ARTHUR MUNBY.

THE RAINBOW.

STILL young and fine! but what is still in view

We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new.
How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye
Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry!
When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,
The youthful world's grey fathers, in one knot
Did with intentive looks watch every hour

For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!
When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair,
Storms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air :
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie
Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye!
When I behold thee, though my light be dim,
Distant and low, I can in thine see him ·
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,
And minds the covenant 'twixt all and One.

HENRY VAUGHAN.

A DROP OF DEW.

EE how the orient dew

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Shed from the bosom of the morn
Into the blowing roses,

Yet careless of its mansion new

For the clear region where 'twas born,
Round in itself incloses,

And in its little globe's extent
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,
Scarce touching where it lies;

But, gazing back upon the skies,
Shines with a mournful light,
Like its own tear,

Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls and unsecure,
Trembling lest it grow impure,

Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back again.

So the soul, that drop, that ray,

Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height,

Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green,

And, recollecting its own light,

Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater heaven in a heaven less.

In how coy a figure wound,
Every way it turns away;
So the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day.'
Dark beneath, but bright above;
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go;
How girt and ready to ascend;
Moving but on a point below,

It all about does upwards bend.

Such did the manna's sacred dew distil,

White and entire, though congealed and chill;
Congealed on earth, but does dissolving run
Into the glories of the almighty Sun.

ANDREW MARVELL.

SWE

VIRTUE.

WEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night,

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Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave,

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shows ye have your closes,

And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous Soul,

Like seasoned timber, never gives;

But, though the whole world turn to coal,

Then chiefly lives.

GEORGE HERBERT.

A

THE EVENING CLOUD.

CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun;

A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seemed and floated slow; Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous WestEmblem, methought, of the departed soul! To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.

JOHN WILSON.

PARTING GLEAMS.

THE lights o'er yonder snowy range
Shine yet, intense and tender;

Or, slowly passing, only change
From splendour on to splendour.

Before the dying eyes of Day
Immortal visions wander;
Dreams prescient of a purer ray,

And morn spread still beyond her.

Lo! heavenward now those gleams expire
In heavenly melancholy;

The barrier-mountains, peak and spire,
Relinquishing them slowly.

Thus shine, O God, our mortal powers,
While grief and joy refine them;
And, when in death they fade, be ours
Thus gently to resign them.

AUBREY DE Vere.

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