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Fear God, all-wise, omnipotent,

Life cannot comprehend thee, though thou showest In him we live and have our being;

Thyself by all the functions of our life -He hath all love, all blessing seat

'Tis death — death only, which is the great' teacher! Creator - Father - All-decreeing !

Awful instructor! he doth enter in Fear him, and love, and praise, and trust:

The golden rooms of state, and all perforce Yet have of man no slavish fear;

Teach there its proud, reluctant occupant; Remember kings, like thee, are dust,

He doth inform in miserable dens And at one judgment must appear.

The locked-up soul of sordid ignorance But virtue, and its holy fruits,

With his sublimest knowledge! he hath stolen The poet's soul, the sage's sense,

Gently, not unawares, into the chamber These are exalted attributes;

of the Poor Scholar, like a sober friend And these demand thy reverence.

Who doth give time for ample preparation! But, boy, remember this, e'en then

He hath dealt kindly with me, giving first Revere the gifts, but not the men!

Yearnings for unimaginable good, Ohey thy parents; they are given

Which the world's pleasure could not satisfy ; To guide our inexperienced youth;

And lofty aspiration, that lured on Types are they of the One in heaven,

The ardent soul as the sun lures the eagle ; Chasusing but in love and truth!

Next came a drooping of the outward frame, Keep thyself pure — sin doth eflace

Paleness and feebleness, and wasted limbs, The beauty of our spiritual life:

Which said, “ prepare! thy days are numbered !" Do good to all men -- live in peace

And thus for months had this poor frame declined, And charity, abhorring strite!

Wasting and wasting; yet the spirit intense The mental power which God has given,

Growing more clear, more hourly confident, As I have taught thee, cultivate ;

As if its disenthralment had begun! Thou canst not be 100 wise for heaven,

Oh, I should long to die! If thou dost humbly consecrate

To be among the stars, the glorious stars; Thy soul to God! and ever take

To have no bounds to knowledge; to drink deep In his good book delight; there lies

Of living fountains - to behold the wise, The highest knowledge, which will make

The good, the glorified! to be with God, Thy soul unto salvation wise!

And Christ, who passed through death that I might · My little boy, thou canst not know

live! How strives my spirit fervently,

Oh I should long for death, but for one tie, How my heart's fountains overflow

One lingering tie that binds me to the earth! With yearning lenderness for thee!

My mother! dearest, kindest, best of mothers! God keep and strengthen thee from sin!

What do I owe her not? all that is great, God crown thy life with peace and joy,

All that is pure -- all that I have enjoyed And give at last to enter in

Of outward pleasure, or of spiritual lise,
The city of his rest!

I have derived from her! has she not laboured
My boy

Early and late for me? first through the years
Farewell - I have had joy in thee;

Of sickly infancy - then by her toil I go to higher joy – oh, follow me!

Maintained the ambitious scholar - overpaid
But now farewell!

By what men said of him! Oh thou untired,
Kind sir, good night!

True heart of love, for thee I hoped to live;
I will return with morning light. (He goes out. To pay thee back thy never-spent affection ;

To fill my father's place, and make thine age
[The Poor Scholar sits for some time as in As joyful as thou mad'st my passing youth !

meditation, then rising and putting away Alas! it may not be! thou hast to weep –
all his books, except the Bible, he sits down Thou hast to know that sickness of the heart

Which bows jt to the dust, when some unlooked-for, Schol. Now, now I need them not, I've done with Some irremediable woe befals! them.

- Surely ere long thou wilt be at my side, I need not blind philosophy, nor dreams

For I did summon thee, and thy strong love Of speculating men, entangling truth

Brooks not delay! Alas, thou knowest not In cobweb sophistry, away with them

It was to die within thy holy arms One word read by that child is worth them all! That I have asked thy presence! Oh! come, come, – The business of my life is finished now

Thou most beloved being, bless thy son, With this day's work. I have dismissed the class And take one comfort in his peaceful death! For the last time - I am alone with death!

(A slight knocking is heard at the door, Tomorrow morn, they will inquire for me,

and the Philosopher enters. And learn that I have solved the last, great problem. Philos. Well, my young friend, I've looked in to This pale, attenuate frame they may behold.

inquire But that which loves, and hopes, and speculates, After your health. I saw your class depart, They will perceive no more. Mysterious being! And would have conference with you once again.

enare :

Schol. To-night I must decline your friendship, sir. Just tottering on eternity! Delusion, I am so weak I cannot talk with you

'Tis all delusion! while my soul abhorred, On controversial points ever again.

My heart was wounded at the traitorous act! Besides, my faith brings such a holy joy,

Philos. Come, come, my friend, this is mere deSuch large reward of peace, why would you shake it?

clamation; Or is it now a time for doubts and fears,

You have misunderstood both them and me!
When my soul's energy should be concentred Point out the errors — you shall find me ever
For one great trial ? See you not, e'en now, Open unto conviction.
The spectre death is with me?


See my state -Philos.



A few short hours, and I must be with God;
It is the nature of all sickness thus

And yet you ask me to evolve that long To bring death near to the imagination,

Entanglement of subtlest sophistry! Even as a telescope doth show the moon

This is no friendly part: but I conjure you,
Just at our finger-ends without decreasing

Give not your soul to vain philosophy :
The actual distance. Come, be not so gloomy ;- The drooping Christian at the hour of death
You have no business to be solitary ;

Needs other, mightier wisdom than it yields.
A cheerful friend will bring back cheerfulness.

Oh, though I am but young, and you are old, Have you perused the books I left with you? Grant me the privilege of a dying man, Schol. I have, and like them not!

To counsel you in love!

Indeed! indeed!

Enough, enough!
Are they not full of lofty argument

I see that you are spent. I have too long And burning eloquence? For a strong soul, Trespassed upon your time. But is there nought Baptized in the immortal wells of thought,

That I can serve you in? Aspire you not They must be glorious food!

To win esteem by study? I will speak

Pardon me, sir, Unto the primest scholars throughout Europe
They are too specious ; – they gloss over error in your behalf. All universities
With tinsel covering which is not like truth.

Will heap upon you honours at my asking.
Oh! give them not to young and ardent minds

Schol. There was a time these things had been a They will mislead, and baffle and confound: Besides, among the sages whom you boast of,

But the near prospect of eternity With their proud heathen virtues, can ye find

Takes from the gauds of earth their tempting'st lure; A purer, loftier, nobler character;

No, no - it was a poor unmeet ambition More innocent, and yet more filled with wisdom,

Which then was hot within me, and, thank God, Fuller of high devotion - more heroic

Aflecteth me no more! Than the Lord Jesus - dignified yet humble ;


Nay, but my friend,
Warring 'gainst sin, and yet for sinners dying?
Philos. Well; pass the men, what say you to the A noble name emblazoned on your tomb?

For your dear mother's suke would you not leave morals? Schol. And where is the Utopian code of morals

Schol. Can such poor, empty honours compensate

Unto a childless mother for her son?
Equal to that which a few words set forth
Unto the Christian. “ do ye so to others

You know her not, and me you know not either! As would they should do unto yourselves."

Philos. But think you, my young friend, learning ye And where, among the fables of their poets,

is honoured Which you pretend veil the divinest truths,

By every honour paid to its disciples : Find you the penitent prodigal coming back

Your tomb would be a shrine, to learning sacred. Unto his father's bosom ; thus to show

Schol. There is more comfort, sir, unto my soul God's love, and our relationship to him?

To feel the smallest duty not neglected, Where do they teach us in our many needs

And my day's work fulfilled, than if I knew To list up our bowed, broken hearts to God,

This perishable dust would be interred And call him “ Father?"- Leave me as I am!

In kingly marble, and my oame set forth I am not ignorant, though my learning lie

In pompous blazonry. In this small book-nor do I ask for more!


Not to be great Philos. But have you read the parchments?

You do mistake my drilt -- but greatly useful; Schol.

All of them. Surely you call not this unmeet ambition! Philos. And what impression might they make

Schol. Sir, had the will of God ordained a wider, upon you?

A nobler sphere of usefulness on earth, For knowing as I do your graceful mind,

lle would have given me strength, and health, and And your profound research beyond your years,

power I am solicitous of your approval.

For its accomplishment. I murmur not Schol. I cannot praise - I cannot say one word That little has been done, but rather bless Him In commendation of your misspent labours.

Who has permitted me to do that little; Oh, surely it was not a friendly part

And die content in his sufficient mercy, To hold these gorgeous baits before a soul

Which has vouchsafed reward beyond my merit.

Philos. Nay, I must serve you! Let me but con. Full of redeeming knowledge, making wise

Unto salvation, and the holy spring
Unto your body's ease. This wretched room, Of all divine philosophy - and thou poor dust,
And its poor pallet - would you not desire

For which the soul of man is often sold;
A lighter, airier, more commodious chamber, Yet wast thou not by evil traffic won,
Looking out to the hills; and where the shine Nor got by fraud, nor wrung from poverty —
Of the great sun might enter - where sweet odours, God blessed the labourer while he toiled for thee,
And almost spiritual beauty of fair flowers

And may'st thou bless the widow !-lie thou thereMight gratify the sense - and you might fall I shall not need you more. I am departing Gracefully into death, in downy ease?

To the fruition of the hope of one,
Speak, and all this is yours !

And where the other cannot get admittance!
Here will I die!

And now a few words will explain the rest:-
Here have I lived - here from my boyhood lived;

[He writes a few words, which he encloses These naked walls are like familiar faces,

with them, and making all into a packel, And that poor pallet has so oft given rest

seals them up. To my o'erwearied limbs, there will I die! Philos. But you do need physicians — here is gold, which will bleed fresh when she shall break this seal.

God comfort her poor heart, and heal its wounds, I know the scholar's fee is scant enough!

[Shortly after this is done, he becomes sudI will go hence, and send you an attendant. Schol. I cannot take your gold, I want it not.

denly paler - a convulsive spasm passes My sickness is beyond the aid of man;

over him; when he recovers, he slowly And soon, even now, I did expect my mother.

rises, and kneels upon his pallet-bed. Philos. (affecting sorrow.) My dear young friend, I Schol. Almighty God! look down have to ask your pardon ;

Upon thy feeble servant! strengthen him! The letter that I promised to deliver,

Give him the victor's crown, I did forget - indeed I gave it not!

And let not faith be dim!
Scho. How have I trusted to a broken reed !

Oh, how unworthy of thy grace,
Oh mock me not with offers of your friendship, How poor, how needy, stained with sin!
Say not that thou would serve me!

How can I enter in

Oh my mother - Thy kingdom, and behold thy face!
Poor, broken-hearted one, I shall not see thee! Except thou hadst redeemed me, I had gone

(He covers his face for a moment, then Without sustaining knowledge to the grave!
rises up with sudden energy.

For this I bless thee, oh thou Gracious One,
Whoe'er you are, and for what purpose come, And thou wilt surely save!
I know not - you have troubled me too long-

I bless thee for the life which thou hast crowned But something in my spirit, from the first,

With never-ending good; Told me that you were evil ; and my thought For pleasures that were found Has often inly uttered the rebuke,

Like wayside flowers in quiet solitude. * Get thee behind me, Satan!" Leave me now - I bless thee for the love that watch'd o'er me Leave me my lonely chamber to myself,

Through the weak years of infancy, And let me die in peace!

That has been, like thine everlasting truth. [The Philosopher goes out, abashed. The guide, the guardian-angel of my youth.

The scholar falls back into his chair, Oh, Thou that didst the mother's heart bestow, exhausted ; after some time recover. Sustain it in its woe,

ing, he faintly raises himself. For mourning give it joy, and praise for heaviness! Tis night-fall now - and through the uncurtained

[He falls speechless upon the bed. window

His mother enters hurriedly. I see the stars; there is no moon to-night.

Mother. Alas, my son ! and am I come too late? Here then I light my lamp for the last time ; Oh, Christ! can he be dead? And ere that feeble flame has spent itself,

Schol. [looking up faintly.) Mother, is 't thou ? A soul will have departed!

It is! who summoned thee, dear mother?
Let me now

Mother. A little boy, the latest of thy class ; Close my account with life; and 6 affection, He left these walls at sunset, and came back And never-cancelled duty, give their rights : With me e'en now. He told me of thy words,

(He opens his Bible and inscribes it. And of thy pallid cheek and trembling hand ;This I return to thee, my dearest mother,

Sorrowing for all, but sorrowing most because Thy gift at first, and now my last bequest ;

Thou saidst he would behold thy face no more !
And these poor earnings, dust upon the balance Schol. My soul doth greatly magnify the Lord
Compared with the great debt I owe to thee, For his unmeasured mercies ! - and for this
Are also thine - would I had more to give! Great comfort, thy dear presence! I am spent -
There lie you, side by side.

The hand of death is on me! Ere the sun
He lays a small sum of money with the Bible. Lightens the distant mountains, I shall be
Thou blessed book, Among the blessed angels! Even now




I see as 't were heaven opened, and a troop talents, and friends, yet has the moments when the Of beautiful spirits waiting my release!

soul, reacting upon itself, prays to be disenthralled. Mother. My son! my son! and thou so young, so None are retrieveless ; none are utterly alien to good, wise,

save the victim of avarice ; for when did the soul, So well-beloved, alas, must thou depart!

abandoned to this vice, feel misgivings? when did it Oh, rest thy precious head within mine arms, feel either pity or love? or when did it do one good My only one!— Thou wast a son indeed!

thing, or repent of one evil thing? It will strip Schol. Mother, farewell! I hear the heavenly without remorse, the fatherless, the widow, nay even voices,

the very sanctuary of God! Avarice is the Upas of They call! — I cannot stay: farewell — farewell! the soul — no green thing flourishes below it, no bird

of heaven flies over it; and the dew and the rain, and Choir of Spiritual Voices.

the virtues of the earth, become pestilential because No more sighing,

of it! It shall be the love of gold which shall be No more dying,

my next temptation.” Come with us, thou pure and bright!

Time is done,

Joy is won,
Come to glory infinite!

Hark! the angel-songs are pealing!
Heavenly mysteries are unsealing,
Come and see, oh come and see!

Here the living waters pour,
Drink and thou shalt thirst no more,
Dweller in eternity!

No more toiling — no more sadness!
Welcome to immortal gladness,

Beauty and unending youth!
Thou that hast been deeply tried,

Time occupied, one-and-twenty years.
And like gold been purified,

Come to the eternal truth!
Pilgrim towards eternity,

Tens of thousands wait for thee!

A green hill overlooking a broad valley, in the centre
Come, come!

of which, among a few old trees, stands a noble mansion of grey stone ; a fine lake appears in the

winding of the valley, and the hill-sides are scattered Achzib was surprised at the ill success of his

with a few worthless old trees, the remnants of woods attempt upon the Poor Scholar. He was humiliated

which have been felled. Thomas of Torres comes to feel how powerfully he had been rebuked by one

forward, and throws himself on the grass. com paratively a youth-one who was poor, and who

Thomas. That was my home — the noble hall of had so little knowledge of men. It was before the

Torres ! authority of virtue he had shrunk, but he had never Mine were those meadows - yon bright lake was believed till that moment, that virtue possessed such

mine, authority; and almost confounded, he walked forth Where when a boy I fished, and swam, and hurled from the door of the Poor Scholar into the fields that Smooth pebbles o'er its surface; those green hills surrounded the city.

Were mine, and mine the woods that clothed themAchzib had done unwisely in making too direct an This was my patrimony! a fair spot, attack. The integrity of principle may be under- Than which this green and pleasant face of earth mined, but is seldom taken by storm.

Can show none fairer! With this did descend When Achzib had duly pondered upon the cause of his failure, his desire was only redoubled to make an honourable name — the lord of Torres! a fresh attempt. "I will neither choose a dying man, without a blot on its escutcheon,

An unimpeachable and noble name, a scholar, nor one of inflexible virtue,” said he, “and Till it descended to a fool like me — yet my triumph shall be signal and complete," He A spendthrift fool, who is become a proverb ! thought over the baits for human souls -loveambition — pleasure; but all these he rejected. - My father was a good and quiet man “For,” said he, “is not avarice more absorbingly, He wedded late in life; and I was born more hopelessly cruel than all these? The lover may The child of his old age; my mother's face be fierce, ungovernable, extravagant; still is the I knew not, saving in its gilded frame, passion in itself amiable. The man of ambition may where, in the chamber of her loving husband, wade through blood to a kingdom; yet even in his It hung before his bed. My father died career, give evidence of good and great qualities. The When I was in my nonage. Marvellous pains, votary of pleasure, though he sacrifice health, wealth, Reading of books, study, and exercise,

Made me, they said, a perfect gentleman;

This was a jeweller, and must be paid ; Şuch was the lord of Torres three years since ! This was a tailor- this had sold perfumes, He rode, he ran, he hunted, and he hawked, This silks, and this confectionery and wineAnd all exclaimed, “ a gallant gentleman!" They must—they must be paid they would be paid! He had his gay companions — what of that? They said that youth must have its revelries.

“The lord of Torres is a ruined man!" He laughed, he sung, he danced, he drank his wine, So said the cunning lawyer;- and they sold And all declared, “ a pleasant gentleman!"

Horses and hounds and hawks, and then they said They came to him in need — his many friends

The house itself must go! The silent lord Money he had in plenty, it was theirs !

Rose up an angry man: "Fetch me my horse !" He paid their debts; he gave them noble gifts ; Said he ; for now a thought had crossed his mind He seasted them; he said, " they are my friends,

Wherein lay hope. — Alus! he had no horseAnd what I have is their's!" and they exclaimed,

The lord of Torres walked a-foot that day! . Oh, what a noble, generous gentleman!"

“I'll seek my friends!" said he, “my right good He had his friends too, of another sort

friends ; Fair women that seduced him with their eyes,

They'll help me in my need, each one of them." For these he had his fetes ; his pleasant shows ;

He sought their doors this saw him through the His banquetings in forest solitudes,

blind, Beneath the green boughs, like the sylvan gods :

And bade his valet say, he was abroad : And these repaid him with sweet flatteries, This spoke him pleasantly, and gave him wine, And with bewitching smiles and honeyed words And pledged him in the cup, his excellent friend!

But when he told the purport of his visit, The lord of Torres did outgo his rents ;

He shook his head, and said he had no gold, His many friends had ta'en his ready cash;

Even while he paid a thousand pieces down “What then!" said they, “ thy lands are broad and For a vain bauble! From another's lips rich,

He heard the mocking words of “spendthrift,". Get money on them !” Ah, poor thoughtless fool,

** beggar." He listened to their counsels !- Feasts and gisis,

The lord of Torres turned upon his heel, And needy friends, again have made him bare !

And muttered curses while his heart was sad. "Cut down thy woods !" said they. He cut them “There's yet another friend," said he, “ beloved down ;

Beyond them all ; for while I held them churls, And iben his wants lay open to the day,

This was the chosen brother of my heart!" And people said this thriftless lord is poor!"

The lord of Torres stood beside his gate; This touched his pride, and he grew yet more lavish. There was a show as for a festival. "Come to my heart,” said he," my faithful friends; "I come in a good hour!" said he to one We'll drink and laugh, to show we yet can spend !” Who stood hard by—“what means this merry show?" _ * The woods are felled; the money is all spent;

" How! know you not," said he, “ this very morn What now remains ? — The land's as good as gone,

The noble Count haih wedded the fair daughter The usurer doth take its yearly rent!"

Of Baron Vorm!" The young lord's cheek is white, So spake the lord again unto his friends :

His brain doth reel — he holds against the gate, * Sell house and all!" exclaimed the revellers.

And hides his face that none may see his tears! The young lord went to his uneasy bed

He back returned unto his fathers' house, A melancholy man. The portraits old

And entering in his chamber, barred the door, Looked from their gilded frames as if they spoke

And passed a night of sleepless agony ! Silent upbraidings — all seemed stern but one, The lord of Torres was an altered man: That youthful mother, whose kind eye and smile A woe had shadowed o'er his countenance; Appeared to say, Return, my son, return!

His speech was low, and tremulous, and sad

He bore a wounded heart within his breast. The lord of Torres is a thoughtful man:

Then came his aged steward with streaming eyes, His days are full of care, his nights of fear;

And gave to him a little bag of gold; He beedeih not which way his feather sils;

"Take it," he said, “I won it in thy service, He wears the velvet jerkin for the silk;

And in the service of thy noble father!" He hath forgot the roses in his shoes ;

The lord of Torres took the old man's hand, He drinks the red wine and forgets the pledge;

And wept as weeps a child ; his heart was touched. He hears the jest, and yet he laugheth not:

“Take back thy gold," said he; “I wasted mine, Then said his friends “ Our lord hath lost his wits,

Yet will I not expend thy honest gains :Let's leave him ample space to look for them !"

Friend, take it back — I will not touch thy gold !"
They rode away, and left his house to silence;
The empty rooms echoed the closing doors ;- The house was sold - the lands, the lakes were sold,
The board was silent! silent was the court, And debts and charges swallowed up the price ;
Save for the barking of the uneasy hounds.

And now he is a landless, homeless man,-
Soon spread those friends, the news of his distress! He is no lord, he hath no heritage!
And then again a crowd was at his doors :

Thomas of Torres, get thee from this place,

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