LOVELY lasting Peace below,
Comforter of every woe,
Heavenly born and bred on high,
To crown the favourites of the sky;
Lovely lasting Peace, appear,
This world itself-if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden blest,
And man contains it in his breast.
COME lovely, gentle Peace of Mind,
Be thou my cheerful, constant guest,
With thee, whate'er on earth I find,
Thou, pledge of heaven, shalt make me blest.
Come, thou that lov'st to walk at eve,
The banks of murmuring streams along,
That dar'st the crowded court to leave,
To hear the rustic's simple song.
With thee, the lamp of wisdom burns,
The guiding light to realms above;
With thee, the raptured mortal learns
The wonders of celestial love.
With thee, the poor have endless wealth,
Thy sacred presence glads the slave;
With thee, the sick hail coming health,
The weak are strong, the timid brave.
ON earth, while onward time doth roll,
Incessant cares our path surround;
Yet thou reviv'st the drooping soul
As dew from heaven the thirsty ground.
As lullaby the ailing child
May softly lull to quiet sleep,
So thy consoling spirit mild
Soothes those who sorrow-stricken weep.
For oft when some poor heart by grief
Is wrung, true sympathy may dry
The blinding tear, may yield relief,
And thus suppress the bitter sigh.
Sweet unison of soul will raise
Faith's languid flame, in anguished breast,
And blended hopes of brighter days
Lighten the heart with sorrow pressed.
Oh, is it not indeed sublime,
To drop soul-soothing words of cheer,
Which like some sweet-loved mellow chime
Fall gently calm on pensive ear.
'Tis Heaven's command that we should be
To each as brothers, and in love
We should fulfil this high decree,
This "
new commandment" from above.
Then let us do whate'er we can,
And ne'er be selfish, backward, vain,
To aid a suffering fellow-man,
To mitigate a brother's pain.
For He whose mighty power could stay
The tumult of the troubled sea,
Breathed while on earth, day after day,
The very soul of sympathy.
How lovely shines the liquid pearl,
Which trickling from the eye,
Pours in a suffering brother's wound,
The tear of sympathy!
Its beams a fairer lustre yield
Than richest rubies give-
Golconda's gems, though bright, are cold—
It cheers, and bids us live.
Softer the tones of Friendship's voice,
Its words more kindly flows,
More grateful in its simplest sound
Than all which art bestows.
When torturing anguish racks the soul,
When sorrow points its dart;
When Death, unerring, aims the blow
Which cleaves a brother's heart;
Then, Sympathy! 'tis thine to lull
The sufferer's soul to rest;
To feel each pang, to share each throb,
And ease the troubled breast.
"Tis thine to aid the sinking frame;
To raise the feeble hand,
To bind the heart by anguish torn,
With sweet affection's band.
"Tis thine to cherish Hope's fond smile,
To chase affliction's gloom,
To mitigate the pains that wait
Our passage to the tomb.
Then give me, Heaven, the soul to feel,
The hand to mercy prone;
The eye with kindly drops that flows
For sorrows not my own.
Be mine the cause of Misery's child-
Be mine the wish sincere,
To pluck the sting that wounds his breast,
And heal it with a tear.
THERE's nothing lost. The tiniest flower
That grows within the darkest vale,
Though lost to view, has still the power
The rarest perfume to exhale;
That perfume, borne on Zephyr's wings
May visit some lone sick one's bed,
And like the balın affection brings,
"Twill scatter gladness round her head.
There's nothing lost. The drop of dew
That trembles in the rosebud's breast,
Will seek its home in ether blue,
And fall again as pure and blest-
Perchance to revel in the spray,
Or moisten the dry, parching sod,
Or mingle in the fountain spray,
Or sparkle in the bow of God.
There's nothing lost. The seed that's cast
By careless hands upon the ground,
Will yet take root, and may at last
A green and glorious tree be found;
Beneath its shade, some pilgrim may
Seek shelter from the heat of noon,
While in its boughs the breezes play,
And songbirds sing their sweetest tune.
There's nothing lost. The slightest tone
Or whisper from a loved one's voice,
May melt a heart of hardest stone,
And make the saddened heart rejoice.
And then, again, the careless word
Our thoughtless lips too often speak,
May touch a heart already stirred,
And cause that troubled heart to break.
There's nothing lost. The faintest strain
Of breathings from some dear one's lute,
In memory's dream may come again,
Though every mournful string be mute.
The music of some happier hour—
The harp that swells with love's own words,
May thrill the soul with deepest power
When still the hand that swept its chords.
OBSERVE what wisdom shines in that decree,
Which, varying life, appoints our ages three,
Youth, manhood, and decline. In these we trace
A rich proportion, and harmonious grace.
Deprived of either life would charm no more :
A whirl of passion, or a desert shore.
If all were young, and this a world of boys,
Heavens! what a scene of trifles, tricks, and toys!
How would each minute of the live-long day,
In wild, obstreperous frolic, waste away!
A world of boys! defend us from a brood
So wanton, rash, improvident, and rude;
Truants from duty, and in arts unskilled,
Their minds and manners, like their fields, untilled;
Their furniture, of gaudy trinkets made;
Sweetmeats their staple article of trade;
No fruit allowed to ripen on the tree,
And not a bird's-nest from invasion free.
In public life, there still would meet your sight,
The same neglect of duty and of right.
Pray, for example, take a stripling court,
And see which there would triumph, law or sport:
Adjourn, adjourn," some beardless judge would say, "I'll hear the trial when I've done my play !"
Or, if the judge sat faithful to the laws,
Hear how the counsel might defend his cause.
"May't please your Honour-'tis your turn to stop,
I'll spin my speech, when I have spun my top."
Meanwhile the jury pluck each other's hair,
The bar toss notes and dockets into air,
The sheriff, ordered to keep silence, cries,
"Oh, yes! oh, yes! when I have caught these flies."
Such were the revellings of this giddy sphere,
Should youth alone enjoy dominion here.
All glory, mischief; and all business, play-
And life itself, a misspent holiday.
Now let us take a soberer view again,
And make this world a world of full-grown men,
Stiff, square, and formal, dull, morose, and sour,
Contented slaves, yet tyrants when in power;
The firmest friends, where interest forms the tie,
The bitterest foes, where rival interests vie;
Skilled to dissemble, and to smile by rule,
In passions raging, while in conduct cool;
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