It was thy turn; and in thy place

Thy seed are boasting in the sun; Thou hadst thy time to run thy race: They must depart whose race is run.

Ay, such the saws I lightly say

O'er death that comes not near to me!

So loftily I put away

The horror of mortality!

Yet, looking nearer, ye dry bones

Of that which once was blithe and strong, May I not gather among these stones A lesson that may last me long?

For ye, how like, thus white and dry,
Thus melting stili from dust to mould,

To what, one day, some passer by
As my sole relics may behold!
And haply murmur, casting forth
The morsel for no burial fit,

"As hewn wood, broken upon the earth, Our bones lie scattered before the pit !"

Shall that be all or shall he add

"God rest his soul whose dust is here:

What sorrows or what sins he had

Be lifted in a happier sphere!"

D

To him some matter-none to me

His tender tear or thoughtful sigh; Wherever Death cuts down the tree, The tree must fall—and, falling, lie.

Yet may I take, when I depart,

At least thy comfort, to have borne,
While yet I lived, a stalwart heart,
Of gentler graces not forlorn;
Some flowers that air did not disdain

To have displayed with decent pride;
Then, in mine hour, the ending pain
Borne meekly, unrepining died.

If more than this I dare demand,

And dare to hope that Heaven shall grant, 'Tis what thou canst not understand,

Last relic of a perished plant!
Thou goest with thy dry bones hence:
'Tis ours alone, beyond the tomb,
To look for time to re-commence,
New Springs, and an immortal bloom.

T. BURBIDGE.

LOVE OF NATURE.

GLAD sight wherever new and old

Is joined through some dear home-born tie; The life of all that we behold

Depends upon that mystery.

Vain is the glory of the sky,

The beauty vain of field and grove, Unless, while with admiring eye

We gaze, we also learn to love.

WORDSWORTH.

NATURE'S LESSON.

ONE lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
One lesson, that in every wind is blown,

One lesson of two duties serv'd in one,
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity-—
Of Toil unsevered from Tranquillity:

Of Labour, that in still advance outgrows,
Far noisier schemes, accomplished in Repose,
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry.

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,
Man's senseless uproar mingling with his toil,
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on,
Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting :
Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil;
Labourers that shall not fail, when man is gone.
MATTHEW ARNOLD.

Symbols.

THE BOOK OF NATURE.

"The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made."--ROMANS I. 20.

HERE is a book, who runs may read,
Which heavenly truth imparts,

And all the lore its scholars need,

Pure eyes and Christian hearts.

The works of God, above, below,
Within us and around,

Are pages in that book, to show
How God Himself is found.

The glorious sky embracing all

Is like the Maker's love,

Wherewith encompass'd, great and small
In peace and order move.