As waves the grass upon the fields to-day,
That soon the wasting scythe shall sweep away;
As smiles the flower amidst the morning dew,
That eve's chill blast in blighted death may shew,
So in short glory spring the sons of clay,
To bloom awhile, then wither and decay.
Dust tends to dust, ashes with ashes blend;
Yet when the grave receives the buried friend,
A few short sighs may mark the yawning brink,
A few salt tears the broken earth may drink,
A few sad hearts, with woe o'erflowing, bleed,
And pay the tribute they themselves will need.
They soon will need. But life's returning cares
Sweep off the precious fruit which sorrow bears;
The mourner drops his garment, and aspires
To light anew ambition's smothered fires,
Bathe his worn brow with labour's wasting dew,
And sleepless toil for heirs-he knows not who.
Thus He who marks us in our vain career,
In wisdom darkens what we hold most dear;
Takes from our vine the tender leaves away,
And breaks the tendrils from their grov'lling stay;
That the rich clusters, lifted to the sky,
May surer ripen for a world on high.
THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHRISTIAN.
DEAR as thou wert, and justly dear,
We will not weep for thee:
One thought shall check the starting tear
It is that thou art free.
And thus shall faith's consoling power
The tears of love restrain;
Oh! who that saw thy parting hour,
Could wish thee here again?
Triumphant in thy closing eye,
The hope of glory shone;
Joy breathed in thy expiring sigh,
To think the fight was won.
Gently the passing spirit fled,
Sustained by grace divine;
Oh! may such grace on me be shed,
And make my end like thine.
WALK in the light! and e'en the tomb
No fearful shade shall wear;
Glory shall chase away its gloom,
For Christ hath conquered there.
Walk in the light! and thine shall be
A path, though thorny, bright;
Thy God, by grace, shall dwell in thee,
And God himself is light.
BARTON.
GOD might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak-tree, and the cedar-tree,
Without a flower at all.
He might have made indeed enough,
For ev'ry want of our's;
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.
The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus-flower*
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall;
And the herb that keepeth life in man,
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All-dyed with rain-bow light:
All fashion'd with supremest grace,
Up springing day and night;
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passes by?
Our outward life requires them not-
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth.
To comfort man-to whisper life,
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For God who careth for the flowers,
Will much more care for him.
THRICE happy man, whose soul is staid
On God's unseen but certain aid;
Beneath his shadow he'll retreat,
And never fear afflicting heat.
Hear what God utters from above-
"Since he has fixed on me his love,
Has known and has obeyed my will,
I'll place him out of reach of ill.
"Whene'er he prays, his prayer I'll hear,
I'll in his trouble still be near;
Not only him from guilt redeem,
But raise him in the world's esteem.
"He long shall happy live below,
My blessings him shall overflow;
When, languishing for heaven, he dies,
Eternal joys shall glad his eyes."
OBSERVE the rising lily's snowy grace ;
Observe the various vegetable race ;
They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow;
Yet see how warm they blush, how bright they glow.
What royal vestments can with them compare
What King so shining, or what Queen so fair?
If, then, the fowls of heaven Jehovah feeds,
If o'er the fields such beauteous robes he spreads,
Will He not care for you, ye faithless say,
Is He unwise, or are ye less than they?
As a little child relies
On a care beyond his own;
Knows he's neither strong nor wise,
Fears to stir a step alone;
Let me, Lord! with Thee abide,
As my Parent, Guard, and Guide!
Thus preserved from Satan's wiles,
Safe from dangers, free from fears;
May I live upon thy smiles,
Till the promised hour appears,
When the sons of God shall prove
All their Father's boundless love.
J. NEWTON.
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