Man's generation passes soon-
It wanes and changes like the moon!
He rears the perishable wall—
But ere it crumble, he must fall!

And does he fall to rise no more?
Hath he no part to triumph o'er
The pallid king?—no spark to save
From darkness, ashes and the grave?
Thou holy place! the answer wrought
In thy firm walls forbids the thought!
The spirit that established thee

Nor death nor darkness e'er shall see!

RECOLLECTIONS.

I WONDER What they have done with the pine,
Where the red-breast came to sing-
With the maple too, where the wandering vine
So wildly used to fling

Its loaded arms from bough to bough;

And if they gather the grapes there now.

I should like to know if they 've killed the bee, And carried away the hive;

If they've broken the heart of my chestnut-tree,
Or left it still to survive,

And its laughing burs are showering down
Their loosened treasures of shining brown.

And there was a beautiful pond, that stood
Like an ample azure vase;

Or a mirror embosomed in wild g
For the sun to see his face.-

green wood,

Have they torn up its lilies to open a sluice
And let that peaceful prisoner loose?

Perhaps they have ruined the ancient oak

That gave me its ample shade;

And its own dead root in its bed is broke
By the plough from its branches made.
Nor am I sure I could find the spot
Where I had my bower and my mossy grot.

And shall I go back to my first loved home
To find how all is changed,

Alone o'er those altered scenes to roam,
From my early self estranged?

Shall I bend me over the glassy brook,
No more on the face of a child to look?

No! no! for that loveliest spot upon earth
Let memory's charm suffice!

But the spirit will long to the place of her birth

From time and its change to rise

To soar and recover her primal bloom

When death with his trophy has stopped at the tomb'

THE WATERFALL.

YE mighty waters, that have joined your forces,
Roaring and dashing with this awful sound,
Here are ye mingled; but the distant sources
Whence have ye issued, where shall they be found?

Who may retrace the ways that ye have taken,
Ye streams and drops? who separate you all,

And find the many places ye 've forsaken,
To come and rush together down the fall?

Through thousand, thousand paths have ye been roaming
In earth and air, who now each other urge
To the last point! and then, so madly foaming,
Leap down at once from this stupendous verge.

Some in the lowering cloud awhile were centred,
That in the stream beheld its sable face,
And melted into tears, that falling entered,
With sister waters, on the sudden race.

Others, to light that beamed upon the fountain,
Have from the vitals of the rock been freed,
In silver threads, that, shining down the mountain,
Twirled off among the verdure of the mead.

And many a flower that bowed beside the river,
In opening beauty, ere the dew was dried,
Shook by the breeze, has been an early giver
Of her pure offering to the rolling tide.

Thus from the veins, through earth's dark bosom pouring, Many have flowed in tributary streams;

Some in the bow that bent, the sun adoring,

Have shone in colors borrowed from his beams.

But He, who holds the ocean in the hollow
Of his strong hand, can separate you all!
His searching eye the secret way will follow,
Of every drop that hurries to the fall!

We are, like you, in mighty torrents mingled,

And speeding downward to one common home;

Yet there's an eye that every drop hath singled,
And marked the winding ways through which we come.

Those who have here adored the Sun of heaven,

And shown the world their brightness drawn from him, Again before him, though their hues be seven, Shall blend their beauty never to grow dim.

We bless the promise, as we thus are tending

Down to the tomb, that gives us hope to rise, Before the Power to whom we now are bending, To stand his bow of glory in the skies

THE WILD VIOLET.

VIOLET, violet, sparkling with dew,

Down in the meadow-land wild where you grew,
How did you come by the beautiful blue

With which your soft petals unfold?

And how do you hold up your tender, young head When rude, sweeping winds rush along o'er your bed, And dark, gloomy clouds ranging over you, shed Their waters so heavy and cold?

No one has nursed you, or watched you an hour,
Or found you a place in the garden or bower;
And they cannot yield me so lovely a flower,
As here I have found at my feet!

Speak, my sweet violet! answer and tell

How you have grown up and flourished so well,
And look so contented where lowly you dwell,
And we thus by accident meet!

head!

"The same careful hand," the violet said,
"That holds up the firmament, holds up my
And He, who with azure the skies overspread,
Has painted the violet blue.

He sprinkles the stars out above me by night,
And sends down the sunbeams at morning with light
To make my new coronet sparkling and bright,
When formed of a drop of his dew!

"I've nought to fear from the black heavy cloud,
Or the voice of the tempest that comes strong and loud!
Where, born near the lowland, and far from the crowd,
I know, and I live but for ONE.

He soon forms a mantle about me to cast,

Of long silken grass, till the rain and the blast

And all that seemed threatening have harmlessly passed, As the clouds scud before the warm sun!"

THE FROZEN DOVE.

AWAY, away from the path, silly dove,
Where the foot, that may carelessly tread,
Will crush thee!-what! wilt thou not move?
Alas! thou art stiffened and dead!

Allured by the brightness of day,

To sink 'mid the shadows of night,
Too far from the cote didst thou stray,
And sadly hast ended thy flight!

For here, with the snow at thy breast,
With thy wings folded close to thy side,
And crouched in the semblance of rest,
Alone, of the cold thou hast died!