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"Whate'er thy lot,--Whoe'er thou be, Confess thy folly,--kiss the rod, And in thy chastening sorrows see

The hand of GOD.

" A bruised reed he will not break;
Afflictions all his children feel;
He wounds them for his mercy's sake,

He wounds to heal !

* Humbled beneath his mighty hand,
Prostrate his Providence adore :
'Tis done!-Arise ! HE bids thee stand,

To fall no more.

" Now, Traveller in the vale of tears !
To realms of everlasting light,
Through Time's dark wilderness of years,

Pursue thy flight.

46 There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary Pilgrims found :
And while the mouldering ashes sleep

Low in the ground;

“ The Soul, of origin divine,
GOD'S glorious image, freed from clay,
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine

A star of day!

“ The SUN is, but å spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky; The SOUL, immortal as its Sire,

SHALL NEVER DIE.” THE LYRE.

" AH! WHO WOULD LOVE THE LYRE!"

W. B. STEVENS.

Where the roving rill meander'd

Down the green retiring vale, Poor, forlorn ALCÆUS wander'd,

Pale with thought, serenely pale:
Timeless Sorrow o'er his face

Breath'd a melancholy grace,
And fix'd on every feature there
The mournful resignation of despair.

O'er his arm, his lyre neglected,

Once his dear companion, hung, And, in spirit deep dejected,

Thus the pensive poet sung: While, at midnight's solemn noon,

Sweetly shone the cloudless moon, And all the stars, around his head, Benignly bright, their mildest influence shed.

Lyre! O Lyre ! my chosen treasure,

“ Solace of my bleeding heart ! Lyre! O Lyre! my only pleasure,

“ We must now for ever part: « For in vain thy poet sings, « Wooes in vain thine heavenly strings;

“ The Muse's wretched sons are born

" To cold neglect, and penury, and scorn.

- That which ALEXANDER sigh'd for,

“ That which CÆSAR's soul possess'd, 66 That which heroes, kings, have died for,

“ Glory !-animates my breast : “ Hark! the charging trumpets' throats

“ Pour their death-defying notes ; «« To arms !' they call: to arms I fly, “ Like Wolfe to conquer, and like Wolfe to die!

“ Soft!--the blood of murder'd legions

“ Summons vengeance from the skjes ; “ Flaming towns and ravaged regions,

“ All in awful judgment rise ! “O then, innocently brave,

66 I will wrestle with the wave; “Lo! Commerce spreads the daring sail, “ And yokes her naval chariots to the gale.

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