That thou, the camel of life's woe, BY GRECIAN ANNALS IT REMAINED UNTOLD.— · R. C. Trench. By Grecian annals it remained untold, Nor of the treasures of two empires aught ; Within those empty hands unto the grave had brought. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. - Keble. Ir was not, then, a poet's dream, An idle vaunt of song, Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam On vacant fancies throng, Which bids us see in heaven and carth, In all fair things around, Strong yearnings for a blest new birth Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause In the low chant of wakeful birds, In whispering leaves, these solemn words,"God made us all for good." All true, all faultless, all in tune, Opened in mystic unison, To last till time expire. And still it lasts: by day and night, Man only mars the sweet accord, Sin is with man at morning break, But when eve's silent footfall steals And one by one to earth reveals When one by one each human sound Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, Then pours she on the Christian heart At which high spirits of old would start Just guessing, through their murky blind, Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, They marked what agonizing throes Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast The travail-pangs of Earth must last The hour that saw from opening heaven Redeeming glory stream, Beyond the summer hues of even, Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, The rod of heaven has touched them all, "The God who hallowed thee, and blest, Pronouncing thee all good, Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, "Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, His blessed home in heaven hath left Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, And worldlings blot the temple's gold Hence all thy groans and travail-pains; In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. - Burns. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? Our toil 's obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that! A king can mak' a belted knight, |