A Saint! O scorner, give some sign,
Some seal, to prove the title mine,
And warmer thanks thou shalt command.
Than bringing kingdoms in thy hand.

O for an interest in that name,
When hell shall ope its jaws of flame,
And sinners to their doom be hurl'd
While scorned "saints shall judge the world."

How shall the name of saint be prized,
Though now neglected and despised,
When truth shall witness to the Lord,
That saints shall reap a full reward.

MARRIOT.

The Place of Rest.

THERE is an hour of peaceful rest

To mourning wanderers given;
There is a tear for souls distrest,
A balm for every wounded breast-
'Tis found above-in heaven!

THE PLACE OF REST.

There is a soft, a downy bed,

'Tis fair as breath of even;

A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose-in heaven!

There is a home for weeping souls,
By sin and sorrow driven,

When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals,
Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,
And all is drear-but heaven!

up

There Faith lifts the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene-in heaven!

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom
And joys supreme are given :
There rays divine disperse the gloom;

Beyond the confines of the tomb

Appears the dawn of heaven!

ANON.

231

The Common Lat.

ONCE in the flight of ages past

There lived a man-and who was he?
Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembled thee!

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown: His name hath perish'd from the earth, This truth survives alone

That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bliss and woe, a smile, a tear!
Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirit's rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd-but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd-but his delights are fled;

Had friends-his friends are now no more;
And foes-his foes are dead.

THE COMMON LOT.

He loved-but whom he loved, the grave
Hath hid in its unconscious womb;
O she was fair! but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life and light
To him exist-in vain.

He saw whatever thou hast seen,
Encounter'd all that troubles thee;
He was whatever thou hast been,
He was what thou shalt be!

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shade and glory threw,

Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,
Their ruin since the world began,

Of him afford no other trace

Than this-THERE LIVED A MAN.

233

J. MONTGOMERY.

Sauset Choughts.

How beautiful the setting sun
Reposes o'er the wave !

Like Virtue, life's drear warfare done,
Descending to the grave;

Yet smiling with a brow of love,
Benignant, pure, and kind,

And blessing, ere she soars above,
The realms she leaves behind.

The heaving sea—the distant hill—
The waning sky-the woods
With melancholy musing fill

The swelling heart that broods
Upon the light of other days,
Whose glories now are full,

And on the visions Hope could raise, Vacant, but beautiful.

Where are the bright illusions vain

That Fancy bodieth forth? Sunk to their silent caves again,

Aurora of the North!

O who would live these visions o'er,

All brilliant though they seem, Since earth is but a desert shore,

And life a weary dream?

MOIR.