"Earth to earth" and "dust to dust," The solemn priest hath said; And the weary are at rest. JOHN CLARE. BORN, 1793; DIED, 1850. WHAT IS LIFE. AND what is life?—An hour-glass on the run, Its length ?-A minute's pause, a moment's thought;-And happiness?—A bubble on the stream, That, in the act of seizing, shrinks to nought. What is vain hope?-The puffing gale of morn, Which stings more keenly through the thin disguise. And thou, O trouble?-Nothing can suppose (And sure the power of wisdom only knows) What need requireth thee: So free and liberal as thy bounty flows, Some necessary cause must surely be. But disappointments, pains, and every woe, Devoted wretches feel, The universal plague of life below, Are mysteries still, 'neath fate's unbroken seal. HUMAN LIFE. And what is death?-Is still the cause unfound? A long and lingering sleep, the weary crave. Then what is life?-When stripp'd of its disguise, 'Tis but a trial all must undergo; To teach unthankful mortals how to prize That happiness vain man's denied to know, Until he's call'd to claim it in the skies. 129 BERNARD BARTON. HUMAN LIFE. "In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up: in the evening it is cut down, and withereth."-PSALM XC. 6. I WALK'D the fields at morning's prime, "And thus," I cried, "the ardent boy,. Deems life's inheritance is joy— :-Alas! I wander'd forth at noon : On earth's maternal bosom The scythe had left the withering grass, And stretch'd the fading blossom. And thus, I thought with many a sigh, Like flowers which blossom but to die, Once more, at eve, abroad I stray'd, The perfum'd air, the hush of eve, O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve, For thus "the actions of the just," WILLIAM DRENNAN. CHARITY TO MAN. Он, sweeter than the sweetest flow'r, To succour human woes! And softer than the softest strain Of music to the ear, The placid joy we give and gain, The husbandman goes forth a-field, A DOMESTIC SCENE. A hand that providently throws, Nor dissipates in vain : How neat his field! how clean it grows! The nobler husbandry of mind, And culture of the heart, Shall this, with men, less favour find, Oh, no--your goodness strikes a root The youthful hopes that now expand Thus, a small bounty well bestow'd, FELICIA HEMANS. BORN, 1793; DIED, 1835. A DOMESTIC SCENE. 'Twas early day--and sunlight stream'd That hush'd, but not forsaken, seem'd— Whose hope is from above, A father commun'd with the page 131 Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright And touched the book with tenderest light, A radiance all the spirit's own, Some word of life e'en then had met Some ancient promise breathing yet Some heart's deep language, where the glow That my Redeemer lives." And silent stood his children by, Of thoughts o'ersweeping death; THE HOME OF THE SPIRIT. ANSWER me, burning stars of night, |