Such sin atonement never knows, The debt immortal which it owes, No time can cleanse the ugly blot, Is it not written "murder not?" April, 1860.

How fast they fade those summer flowers
Beneath the summer skies,

For scarcely have we called them ours
Before their beauty dies.

The faded to the living flowers
Are linked upon one stem;
Their lives we reckon by the hours
Which softly sweep o'er them.

Like vapour on the steel or glass,
Or on the summer sky,
Away so doth their beauty pass,
They blossom and they die.

Emblems of those we cherish here,
We call our darlings flowers,

So soon doth time there beauty sere,
So brief their summer hours.

April 14, 1860.

CATHEDRAL BELLS.

Ring out ye bells a peal sublime,
From the cathedral's towers,
Ring out, ring out, a Sabbath chime

Unto the quiet hours.

Ring out, and to the purple hills,
Your solemn music go,

And on the surface of the rills,

Let your sweet chiming flow.

Ring out, the melody of birds,
With yours doth sweetly blend,
Like music set to pleasant words
By skilful rhymer penned.

Ring out a welcome to the day,

And when the sounds shall cease, "Twill be the hour to praise and pray, And hush the heart to peace.

Ring out another solemn peal,

Then be your music o'er,

The hour will then be come to kneel,

The moment to adore.

April 15, 1860.

ON THE COMMERCIAL TREATY WITH

FRANCE.

The chains which fetter commerce, fetter man, Protection is the forge where they are made, And selfishness the furnace fire doth fan,

And man's starvation helps a thriving trade.

Oh 'tis a trespass in the sight of Heaven,
To lay a burden on the sons of toil,
That labour's fruit to others should be given,
And beings perish on a fruitful soil.

Free trade's our modern charter, supplement
To that the Barons won at Runymede,
When, John surrounding, on their purpose bent,
They made him do for once a righteous deed.

Free trade's great champion a new laurel wins, In teaching France a lesson hard to learn,

Tardy repentance for commercial sins,

And resolution from those sins to turn.

Cheap bread, cheap beef, it hath a vulgar sound, But at the words though we may scoff and laugh, And pass them with a sneer the table round,

They are of life the very prop and staff.

Let's drop the memory of an ancient feud,
And in the lists of peace instead contend,

Nor waste in petty strife our precious blood,
And freights, not fleets, across the Channel send.
April 17, 1860.

The basement of the pyramid is love,
Secure on that the social fabric stands,
Strong as the monument which soars above,
Built ages since upon the Egyptian sands.

Love's the cement which bindeth stone to stone, Kin in their common origin and mould,

By that cemented and by that alone,

Built up in order beauteous to behold.

Love is the social system's corner-stone,
Which holdeth the superimpending mass,
On that established and on that alone,

Without it class would wildly clash with class.

Love is the key-note in the social scale,
Pitched to that sweet harmony doth reign;
Without that note wild discord would prevail,
And bloody trespass like the sin of Cain.

From Christ love springeth and from Christ alone,
He is its living, never-failing spring,

Christ, of creation the great Corner-stone,
Let all the earth to Him its praises sing.

April 18, 1860.

The Christian liveth

Contented with his lot,

With all God giveth,

With all He giveth not.

In peace he dwelleth,

Gentle, devout, and meek,