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I entered, and I saw him lie

Within the chamber all alone;
I drew near very solemnly

To dead Napoleon.
He was not shrouded in a shroud-

He lay not like the vulgar dead;
Yet all of haughty, stern, and proud,

From his pale brow was fled.
His sword lay bare his pillow nigh,

The sword he liked the best ;
But calm, most calm, was all his face,

A solemn smile was on his lips,
His eyes were closed in pensive grace-

A most serene eclipse !
Ye would have said some sainted sprite

Had left its passionless abode-
Some man whose prayer at morn and night

Had duly risen to God.
What thoughts had calmed his dying breast-

For calm he died-cannot be known;
Nor would I wound a warrior's rest.
Farewell, Napoleon !

-Lockhart.

PARISH MUSINGS.

CHRISTIAN life's no bank of roses,

Where we idly sit and sing
Till the gathering evening closes :

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Full of vows and full of labour,

All our days fresh duties bring,
First to God, and then our neighbour :

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Onward-ever onward pressing,

Yet untired as angel's wing,
Believing, dung, blest and blessing,

Christian lue's an earnest thing.

A NAME IN THE SAND.

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On its wayside none may linger

Undisturbed by sorrow's sting, Or by judgment's warning finger :

Christian life's an earnest thing.

Wake, then, Christian, from thy slumber,

Evening doth its shadows bring, Few the hours thy day may number :

Christian life's an earnest thing.

-Monselt.

A NAME IN THE SAND.

ALONE I walked the ocean strand,
A pearly shell was in my hand,-
I stooped and wrote upon the sand

M name, the year, the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast,-
A wave came rolling high and fast,

And washed my lines away.

And so, methought, 't will shortly be
With every mark on earth from me;
A wave of dark oblivion's sea

Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been to be no more ;
Of me, my day, the name I bore,

To leave no track nor trace.

And yet with Him who counts the sands,
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands

Inscribed against my name ;
Of all this mortal part hath wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught,
For glory, or for shame.

-H. Goula.

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EARLY FRIENDSHIP. THE half-seen memories of childish days, When pains and pleasures lightly came and went, The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent In fearful wanderings through forbidden ways ; The vague but manly wish to tread the maze Of life to noble ends, whereon intent, Asking to know for what man here is sent ; The bravest heart must often pause and gaze ; The firm resolve to seek the chosen end Of manhood's judgment, cautious and mature, Each of these viewless bonds binds friend to friend, With strength no selfish purpose can secure. My happy lot is this that all attendThat friendship which first came, and which shall last endure.

-Aubrey De Vere.

THE FIRST DEPARTURE.
How grand, o sea, thou lonely sea,

Is all thy wandering water !
But yet thou bearest far from me

My boy of song and laughter.

THE FIRST DEPARTURE.

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The boy who filled his mother's home

With life, and joy, and gladness, Thou bearest on thy mighty waste,

And leav'st but tears and sadness.

How grand, old sea, thy lonely waves,

How far the shores it laveth !
Yet to those shores thou bear'st away

The boy my spirit craveth.

I miss him at our morning praise,

I miss him at our prayer,
I miss him at the Sunday church,-

My boy, you are not there.

O sea, thou sea, thou lonely sea,
That bear'st

my
child

away,
His name will aye be mentioned here

Each passing hour of day.

Remembered in our constant prayer,

Which, God, we raise to Thee,
Oh, still preserve Thy ransomed child,

That we with Thee may be.

O sea! O sea! O lonely sea!

Bring back upon thy water,
Before cleath's hand shall part from me,

My boy of song and laughter.

But greater far than thou, O sea,

Is He who lives in heaven,
And He will keep my child for me,
Through grace unfailing given.

-Rev. E. Monro.

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THE moon is up! How calm and slow

She wheels above the hill !
The weary wind forgets to blow,

And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers with delight

The rising brightness see, Revealing all the paths and plains,

And gilding every tree.
It glistens where the hurrying stream

Its little ripple leaves,
It falls upon the forest shade,

And sparkles on the leaves.
So once on Judah's evening hills

The heavenly lustre spread,
The gospel sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.

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