EACH hath its place in the Eternal Plan: And bloom its best within its little span. We must each do, not what we will, but can ; To all things are marked out their place and hour : And surely He who metes, as we should mete Its function best of diligence in love. T. BURBIDGE. VIRTUE. SWEET Day! So cool, so calm, so bright, For thou must die. Sweet Rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring! full of sweet days and roses, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, The Kingdom of Heaven. THE ANGELS' SONG. T came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: "Peace to the earth, goodwill to men From Heaven's all-gracious King:" The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurl'd; And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world: Above its sad and lowly plains They bend, on heavenly wing, And ever, o'er its Babel sounds, The blessed angels sing. |