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96

THE MORE CONVENIENT SEASON.

Care struck deep root around him, and each shoot
Still striking earthward like the Indian tree,
Shut out with woven shade the eye of Heaven.

When lo! a message from the Crucified,
"Look unto me and live."-Pausing he spoke
Of weariness and haste and want of time,
And duty to his children—and besought
A longer time to do the work of Heaven.

God spake again-when age had shed its sorrows

On his wan temples, and the palsied hand
Shrank from gold-gathering. But the rugged chain
Of habit bound him, and he still implored

"A more convenient season."

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"See my step is firm and free,

My unquenched eye delights

"To view this pleasant world, and life with me

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May last for many years. In the calm hour "Of lingering sickness I can better fit

"For vast Eternity."

Disease approached,

And Reason fled the maniac strove with death,
And grappled like a fiend with shrieks, and cried
Till sickness smote his eyeballs,-thick ice

LAST RITES.

Closed round his heart-strings-the poor clay
Lay vanquished and distorted.—But the soul,
The soul, whose promised season never came
To hearken to its maker's call, had gone
To weigh its sufferance with its own abuse,
And bide the audit.

LAST RITES.

By the mighty minster's bell,
Tolling with a sullen swell;
By the colours half-mast high,
O'er the sea hung mournfully,

Know a prince hath died.

By the drum's dull muffled sound;
By the arms that sweep the ground;
By the volleying muskets' tone,

Speak ye of a soldier gone

In his manhood's pride?

By the chaunting psalm that fills
Reverently the ancient hills,

Learn that from his harvests done,

Peasants bear a brother on

To his last repose.

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By the pall of snowy white

Through the yew trees gleaming bright,

By the garlands on the bier

Weep, a maiden claims thy tear,
Broken is the rose.

Which is tenderest rite of all?

Buried virgin's coronal.

Requiem o'er the monarch's head,

Farewell gun for warrior dead.—

Herdsman's funeral hymn?

Tells not each of human woe?

Each of hope and strength brought low?
Number each with holy things,

If one chast'ning thought it brings,

Ere life's day grows dim!

L. E. L.

A life of inaction is a disuse of talents and a perversion of faculties for which we are responsible, it is the inlet of temptation our leisure days are the enemy's busy ones.

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They say there's magic in the tone
Of childhood's artless words;
They say there's music floats along
The lute's enchanting chords;
They say that in the village peal
There is a nameless spell;

But none of these have half the power

Of that sad word-" Farewell."

It soothes away each angry thought
And strife of by-gone years;

It is with pensive feelings fraught
To draw a stoic's tears;

It hath a power tongues cannot breathe,
Which hearts alone can tell,

In anguish left to feel the force

Of that sad word-" Farewell."

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RETIREMENT AND PRAYER.

RETIREMENT AND PRAYER.

["And he withdrew himself into the wilderness and prayed.”Luke v. 16.]

If thus our Lord himself withdrew,

Stealing at times away,

E'en from the lov'd, the chosen few,

In solitude to pray;

How should his followers, frail and weak,
Such seasons of retirement seek.

Seldom amid the strife and din

Of sublunary things,

Can spirits keep their watch within,

Or plume their heaven-ward wings;
He must dwell deep, indeed, whose heart
Can thus fulfil true wisdom's part.

Not in our own spontaneous will
Can we the world shut out,-
Say to our passions, "Peace, be still!"
Or check each rising doubt;
Alone, by prayer, 'tis slowly won,
In the world's throng too rarely done.

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