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THE LAST MAN.

Then draw we nearer day by day,

Each to his brethren, all to God:
Let the world take us as she may,
We must not change our road;
Not wondering, though in grief, to find
The martyr's foe still keep her mind;
But fix'd to hold Love's banner fast,
And by submission win at last.

THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.

The Last Man.

ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep,

That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulph of time.

I saw the last of human mould,
That shall creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!

The sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!

THE LAST MAN.

Some had expired in fight-the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some;

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread:
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb.

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood.
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass'd by;

Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
"Tis mercy bids thee go:

For thou ten thousand thousand years

Hast seen the tide of human tears,

That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee, man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill:

And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,

The vassals of his will?

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrownèd king of day:
For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion or a pang

Entail'd on human hearts.

"Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall

Upon the stage of men;

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THE LAST MAN.

Nor with thy rising beams recal
Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;

Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.

E'en I am weary, in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire!

My lips that speak thy dirge of death-
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast:

The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall-
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

"His spirit shall return to Him

Who gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recall'd to breath,

Who captive led Captivity,
Who robb'd the grave of victory!

And took the sting from Death!

COMPARISON.

"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste,

To drink this last and bitter cup

Of grief that man must taste:-
Go tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On earth's sepulchral clod:
The dark'ning universe defy
To quench his immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!"

T. CAMPBELL.

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Comparison.

THOSE wither'd leaves along the cold ground spread,
Did once the sweetest of all flowers compose;
And though full many a sun hath seen them shed,
They still are odorous as the living rose.
So breathes the memory of departed worth,
When years have mourn'd it in the silent tomb,
There is a fragrance in the holy earth

Where virtue sleeps, that time cannot consume; The good man dies, but with his parting breath Bequeaths the world a sweet that knows no death. ANON.

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The Path of Beaven Larrow and Thorny.

THE path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller e'er reach'd that blest abode,
Who found not thorns and briars in his road.
Worldlings may dance along the flowery plain,
Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain;
Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread
With unshod feet they yet securely tread,
Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent on all pleasure, heedless of its end.
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove.
How slow to learn the dictates of His love,
That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still,
In pity to the souls his grace design'd
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,

Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, "Go spend them in the vale of tears.".

O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!

O salutary streams that murmur there!

These, flowing from the Fount of grace above,

Those breathed from lips of everlasting love.