The Christian's Triumph. LAY down the shield, and quit the sword, And swiftly toward the glowing East Angelic guards wait with the day, Bravely hast thou upheld thy shield, They come, they come-and high in air The World, the Grave, and Death. There, there they wait to welcome thee, And high their triumphs ring: "O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?" THE CHRISTIAN'S TRIUMPH. Thus swiftly pass'd the heavenly band The soldier, from his Sovereign's hand, A soldier's crown obtain'd; But still, as heavenly gales went by, And thus, when all our toils are o'er, "O Grave, where is thy victory? And we shall on the mount of God, Were purchased by our Lord. "O Grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?" 183 J. G. B. PEGG. To my Child at Play. PLAY on, my little one! fair is thine hour; How jocund thy spirit, how cloudless and bright! While Care haunts the court, and the camp, and the bower, Thy heart only feels the warm thrill of delight. Play on! for thy gambols, so blithesome and free, It were pleasure to share, as 'tis joy to behold; Thou art merry and wild as the revelling bee; Thou art blithe as a lamb just escaped from the fold. O could'st thou through life be as happy as now, With thy heart as unclouded, thy bosom as pure; Could the joy of that smile which enlightens thy brow, And the rapturous glow of thy spirits, endure! But I would not with dread of the future thee; oppress Play on! and remember that nothing can tear From thy innocent bosom the hopes that now bless thee, Save the vice of the world:-all thy danger lies there. TO MY CHILD AT PLAY. 185 And when its temptations beset thee my child, O think of the truth which my verse would impart, Be ne'er by its folly, its madness beguiled, But in purity keep all the thoughts of thy heart. More joy will it give me in life, if thy name Yes! goodness will yield to thy soul a delight Which the splendour of greatness can never bestow; And while virtue directs thee, her heavenly light Will reveal the sweet flowers in thy pathway below. Thus favour'd and happy, thus blessing and blest, Thou wilt pass through the world unallured by its crime; Thus living, be honour'd; thus dying, thy rest Will be endless in glory-in rapture sublime! ANON. The Dial of Flowers. "Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours By the opening and the folding flowers Thus each moment had its own rich hue, In whose colour'd vase might sleep the dew, To such sweet signs might the time have flow'd Ere from the garden, man's first abode, So might the days have been brightly told- So in those isles of delight, that rest Which many a bark, with a weary quest, |