TEMPER AS IT SHOULD BE.

On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend,
And crushed ill fortune when it made a friend.
A solitary blessing few can find;

Our joys with those we love are intertwin'd;
And he, whose wakeful tenderness removes

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Th' obstructing thorn which wounds the friend he loves, Smoothes not another's rugged path alone,

But scatters roses to adorn his own.

Small slights, contempt, neglect, unmix'd with hate,
Make up
in number what they want in weight;
These, and a thousand griefs, minute as these,
Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace.

H. MORE.

Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks through a gloom of clouds and glitters for a moment; cheerfulness keeps up a kind of day-light in the mind, and fills it with a steady and perpetual serenity.

L

162

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

They grew in beauty side by side,
They fill❜d one home with glee—
Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea!

The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow,

She had each folded flower in sight-
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forests of the west
By a dark stream is laid;

The Indian knows his place of rest,
Far in the cedar shade.

The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one,
He lies where pearls lie deep;
He was the lov'd of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.

One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd

Above the noble slain,

He wrapt his colours round his breast,

On a blood-red field of Spain.

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And one-o'er her the myrtle showers

Its leaves by soft winds fann'd,
She faded 'midst Italian flowers,
The last of that bright band.

And parted thus, they rest who play'd
Beneath the same green tree,
Whose voices mingled as they pray'd
Around one parent knee!

They that with smiles lit up the hall,
And cheer'd with song the hearth—
Alas, for love, if thou wert all,

And nought beyond, on earth!

F. HEMANS.

Let no one think he may live for himself alone, each individual has a sphere of usefulness to occupy, and his happiness is closely connected with the performances of his duty.

164 THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY KNOW.

THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY KNOW.

Though Earth has full many a beautiful spot,
As a poet or painter might show;

Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright,
To the hopes of the heart and the spirit's glad sight,
Is the Land that no mortal may know.

There the crystalline stream bursting forth from the Throne

Flows on and for ever will flow;

Its waves as they roll are with melody rife,
And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life,
In the Land which no mortal may know.

And there on its margin with leaves ever-green,
With its fruits healing sickness and woe,
The fair Tree of Life in its glory and pride
Is fed by that deep inexhaustible tide,

Of the Land which no mortal may know.

There too are the lost whom we loved on this earth,
With whose mem'ries our bosoms yet glow,
Their relics we gave to the place of the dead;
But their glorified spirits have fled

To the Land which no mortal may know.

A THUNDER STORM.

There the pale orb of night and the fountain of day,
Nor beauty nor splendour bestow,

But the presence of Him, the unchanging "I am,"
And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb,

Light the Land which no mortal may know.

Oh, who but must pine in this dark vale of tears,
From its clouds and its shadows to go,

To walk in the light of the glory above,

And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love,
Of the Land which no mortal may know.

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B. BARTON.

A THUNDER STORM.

Ye giant winds! that from your gloomy sleep
Rise in your wrath, and revel on the deep;
Lightnings that are the mystic gleams of God,
That glanc'd when on the sacred mount He trod;
And ye, ye thunders! that begird His form,
Pealing your loud Hosannah's o'er the storm!
Around me rally in your mingled might,
And strike my being with a dread delight;
Sublimely musing let me pause and see,

And pour my awe-struck soul, O God! to Thee.