A PSALM OF LIFE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us, We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, THE WAY TO BE HAPPY. LORD BYRON. A HERMIT there was, and he lived in a grot, "The way to be happy they say you have got, And as I want to learn it, I've come to your grot. Now I beg and entreat, if you have such a plan, That you'll write it me down as plain as you can." Upon which the old hermit went to his pen, And brought me this note when he came back again. ""Tis being, and doing, and having that make THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. NEAR yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd, And still, where many a garden flow'r grows wild,— There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich-with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns, he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour: Far other aims his heart had learnt to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won. I'leas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride; And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side; But, in his duty prompt at every call, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all: And, as a bird each fond endearment tries Beside the bed, where parting life was laid, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul: Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile: Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given; But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. END OF VOL. II. |