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But O! what storm was in that mind? what strife,
That could compel her to lay down her life?
For she was seen within the sea to wade,
By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
Then to a rock within the hither shoal
Softly and with a fearful step she stole ;
Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
A moment still-and dropt into the flood!
The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,-
She heard not then-she never heard again!

She had-pray, Heav'n!-she had that world in

sight,

Where frailty mercy finds, and wrong has right;
But sure in this her portion such has been,
Well had it still remain'd a world unseen!

MONTGOMERY.

THE GRAVE.

THERE is a calm for those who weep;
A rest for weary pilgrims found:
They softly lie and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky,
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose.

The grave, that never spake before,
Hath found at length a tongue to chide;
O listen!-I will speak no more!-
Be silent, pride!

Art thou a mourner? hast thou known
The joy of innocent delights,
Endearing days for ever flown,
And tranquil nights?

O live! and deeply cherish still
The sweet remembrance of the past;
Rely on Heav'n's unchanging will
For peace at last.

Tho' long of winds and waves the sport, Condemn'd in wretchedness to roam; Live! thou shalt reach a shelt'ring port, A quiet home.

Seek the true treasure, seldom found,
Of pow'r the fiercest griefs to calm,
And sooth the bosom's deepest wound
With heav'nly balm.

Whate'er thy lot-where'er thou be—
Confess thy folly-kiss the rod;
And in thy chast'ning sorrows see
The hand of God.

A bruised reed he will not break,
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,
He wounds to heal!

Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate, his providence adore:
'Tis done! arise! He bids thee stand,
To fall no more.

THE COMMON LOT.

ONCE, in the flight of ages past,

There lived a man :-and WHO was HE? -Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, That Man resembled Thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown: His name has perish'd from the earth, This truth survives alone :

That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bless and woe,-a smile, a tear!
-Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd,
Enjoy'd,

Had friends,

And foes,

but his pangs are o'er;
but his delights are fled;

his friends are now no more;
his foes are dead.

He loved,

but whom he loved, the grave

Hath lost in its unconscious womb: O she was fair! but nought could save Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:
He was whatever thou hast been;
He is what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye That once their shades and glory threw,

Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,

Their ruins, since the world began,

Of HIм afford no other trace

Than this,-
-THERE LIVED A MAN!

ON THE LOSS OF FRIENDS.

FRIEND after friend departs;

Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end!
Were this frail world our final rest,
Living or dying none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,—
Beyond the reign of death,—
There surely is some blessed clime
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown;
A long eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone:
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere!

Thus star by star declines,
Till all are past away;

As morning high and higher shines
To pure and perfect day:

Nor sink those stars in empty night,
But hide themselves in heav'n's own light.

CHARLES LAMB.

SABBATH BELLS.

THE cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard,
Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice
Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims
Tidings of good to Zion: chiefly when
Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear
Of the contemplant, solitary man,

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