But, like a lamp, it flickered, and went down ;
And then its sound came back as soft again,

And wildly swept along that Gothic aisle,

And swelled through mouldering arch and towering dome,

Till every bosom seemed too full to bear it.
It told how man had sinned, and God forgiven;
It told of sorrow and of penitence;

It promised pardon to the contrite heart,

Peace upon earth, and rest at last in heaven;
It told of one who left his father's home,

And journeyed far away to foreign lands,

How he had sinned, and suffered, and had said, When sickness, want, and sorrow lay upon him, "I will arise and go unto my father.'

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The strain was hushed: it paused, and then came back,

and louder, yet more sweet, it came,

"I will arise and go unto my father."

And that man of crime! He looked to heaven,
In humbled penitence; and sobbed aloud,

"I will arise and go unto my father."

And there, before that shrine, he knelt him down,

He wept and prayed, was heard and, was forgiven.

TO A FRIEND, A YOUNG LADY.

SAY, hast thou seen a summer sky, When day's bright beams have gone, And left a mellow radiance there, Where last their glories shone ?

And hast thou seen this evening sky
All pictured on the lake,
Whose sweetly sleeping waters seemed
A mimic heaven to make ?

That sunset splendor passed away,

Night-shadows gathered o'er

The spot where all was loveliness;
Its bright hues were no more.

Thus too our joys, our thoughts of bliss,
Our fond hopes unconfined,

Will pass away, like twilight scenes,
And leave no trace behind.

5 *

TO THE SAME.

-

'Tis sweet to rove, in gladsome hour, From scene to scene, from flower to flower; 'Tis sweet to cast the raptured eye O'er all that smiles so beauteously.

The storm may come,

the tempest lower,

To blast the glories of each flower;
But spring's kind beams, and gentle rain,
Will give it back its sweet again.

Fair maiden! youth's wild garlands round
Thy brow are woven; may they be found,
In after times, as green and fair,

As aught that ever clustered there !

But, should life's storm-clouds meet the brow, Where youth and beauty gambol now,

The tempest in its fury may

A wreath so lovely tear away.

But Heaven will twine a lovelier there,
Around thy gently flowing hair;
It shall be culled from Paradise,

And win its fragrance from the skies.

HUMILITY.*

I BRING no tale of passion or of war, Of empires wasted or of honor won, Nor yet of genius that ambition fired,

Flushed with success and wounded by contempt; A lowlier strain is sweeter far to me,

I sing the praises of Humility.

Fairest and brightest of the forms that stoop

To tabernacle with the sons of men!

Thee, from thy dazzling dwelling-place in heaven, I now invoke ! Oh breathe into my soul

A hallowed portion of thy own pure spirit,
So shall thyself best plead thy cause with man,
And win what thou deserv'st, — the prize of love!

Humility! her home is far away,

Beyond the cloud-built mountains of the air,
Beyond the untravelled regions of the sky,
In glory unapproachable to man,

Where God's own majesty doth sit enthroned!
Is it not strange, that one so meek and lowly,
Should choose a home so high, so bright, as this,

* Delivered before the Alumni of Washington College, at Hartford, in August, 1833. For purity and depth of sentiment, for vigor of imagination and power of illustration and description, — and written by a youth who had not made poetry his study, this is a most remarkable production. It was the last piece written by our friend; hastily, and amid the occupation of other duties and it shows how high was the promise of his maturer years. Yet its intrinsic merits are very uncommon.

Where meet the principalities of heaven,

In the vast presence-chamber of the LORD of Hosts? Should find a worthy welcome only there ?

Yet angels and archangels, - cherubim

And winged seraphim,

all, all have learned

The lowly temper of humility.

See, where they gathering come, on sweeping wing,
Cleaving that atmosphere of silvery light,

Each with a golden crown, and harp more sweet
Than the soft breathings of the softest lute;

far, far away,

As angel's eye can reach, a countless host
Of angel worshippers, each with a song!
So is it, too, as far as earth may be
Like unto heaven, at close of summer eve,
When each fair singing bird returneth home,-
Home from its long and weary wanderings;
Each brings the tribute of a sunset song,
And the wide grove is rich with melody.

And all are gathered now before the throne! Oh, who can tell what rapture is in heaven, When all its happy millions meet to praise ?

Humility, upon her harp of gold,

Hath touched the key-note of heaven's harmonies,

And, as it steals upon the ravished ear,

You scarce can tell, whether it be not rapture

Rather than music.

Soft as the latest light of parting day,

Sweet as the perfume of the desert rose,
Melting as is the eloquence of tears.