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Could those few pleasant hours again appear,

Might one wish bring them, would I wish them

here?

I would not trust my heart,-the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbounded spirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast,
The storms all weather'd, and the ocean cross'd,
Shoots into port at some well-favour'd isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay:
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore,
"Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar;"
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain the rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd—
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd,
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost;
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O! the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
The son of parents pass'd into the skies.

And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;

To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

COWPER.

MOTHER, WHAT IS DEATH?
"MOTHER, how still the baby lies!
I cannot hear his breath;
I cannot see his laughing eyes-
They tell me this is death.

My little work I thought to bring,
And sat down by his bed,
And pleasantly I tried to sing-
They hush'd me he is dead.

They say that he again will rise,
More beautiful than now;
That God will bless him in the skies-
O, mother, tell me how!"

"Daughter, do you remember, dear,
The cold, dark thing you brought,
And laid upon the casement here,→→→
A wither'd worm, you thought?

I told you that Almighty power
Could break that wither'd shell,
And show you, in a future hour,
Something would please you well.

Look at the chrysalis, my love,—
An empty shell it lies;-

Now raise your wandering glance above,
To where yon insect flies!"

"O, yes, mamma! how very gay
Its wings of starry gold!
And see! it lightly flies away
Beyond my gentle hold.

O, mother, now I know full well,
If God that worm can change,
And draw it from this broken cell,
On golden wings to range,-

How beautiful will brother be,
When God shall give him wings,

Above this dying world to flee,
And live with heavenly things!"

MRS. GILMAN.

INCOMPREHENSIBILITY OF GOD.

"I go forward, but he is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive him."

WHERE art thou?-THOU! Source and Support of all
That is or seen or felt; Thyself unseen,
Unfelt, unknown,-alas! unknowable!

I look abroad among thy works-the sky,
Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suns,——
Life-giving earth, and ever-moving main,-
And speaking winds,-and ask if these are Thee!
The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills,
The restless tide's outgoing and return,
The omnipresent and deep-breathing air-
Though hail'd as gods of old, and only less-
Are not the Power I seek; are thine, not Thee!
I ask Thee from the past; if in the years,
Since first intelligence could search its source,
Or in some former unremember'd being,

(If such, perchance, were mine) did they behold Thee?

And next interrogate futurity

So fondly tenanted with better things
Than e'er experience own'd-but both are mute;
And past and future, vocal on all else,

So full of memories and phantasies,

Are deaf and speechless here! Fatigued, I turn
From all vain parley with the elements;

And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn inward.
From each material thing its anxious guest,
If, in the stillness of the waiting soul,

He may vouchsafe himself-Spirit to spirit!
O Thou, at once most dreaded and desired,
Pavilion'd still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee?
What though the rash request be fraught with fate,
Nor human eye may look on thine and live?
Welcome the penalty! let that come now,

Which soon or late must come. For light like this
Who would not dare to die?

Peace, my proud aim,

And hush the wish that knows not what it asks.

Await his will, who hath appointed this,

With every other trial. Be that will

Done now, as ever. For thy curious search,
And unprepared solicitude to gaze

On Him-the Unreveal'd-learn hence, irad,
To temper highest hope with humbleness.
Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts,
Till rent the veil, no longer separating
The Holiest of all-as erst, disclosing
A brighter dispensation; whose results
Ineffable, interminable, tend

E'en to the perfecting thyself-thy kind-
Till meet for that sublime beatitude,

By the firm promise of a voice from heaven
Pledged to the pure in heart!

MISS ELIZABETH TOWNSEND

THE SNOW FLAKE.

"Now, if I fall, will it be my lot
To be cast in some low and lonely spot,
To melt, and to sink unseen or forgot?
And then will my course be ended ?"
T was thus a feathery Snow-Flake said,
As down through the measureless space it stray'd,
Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid,

It seem'd in mid air suspended.

"O, no," said the Earth, "thou shalt not lie,
Neglected and lone, on my lap to die,
Thou pure and delicate child of the sky;
For thou wilt be safe in my keeping;
But, then, I must give thee a lovelier form;
Thou 'lt not be a part of the wintry storm,

But revive when the sunbeams are yellow and warm,
And the flowers from my bosom are peeping.

"And then thou shalt have thy choice to be
Restored in the lily that decks the lea,
In the jessamine bloom, the anemone,
Or aught of thy spotless whiteness;
To melt, and be cast in a glittering bead,

With the pearls that the night scatters over the mead,
In the cup where the bee and the fire-fly feed,
Regaining thy dazzling brightness;-

"To wake, and be raised from thy transient sleep,
When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep,
In a tremulous tear, or a diamond leap

In a drop from the unlock'd fountain;
Or, leaving the valley, the meadow and heath,
The streamlet, the flowers, and all beneath,
To go and be wove in the silvery wreath
Encircling the brow of the mountain.

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