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35. Dying Thoughts.

And in my dying hour,

When riches, fame, and honor have no power
To bear the spirit up,

Or from my lips to turn aside the cup

That all must drink at last,

O, let me draw refreshment from the past!
Then let my soul run back,

With peace and joy, along my earthly track,
And see that all the seeds

That I have scattered there, in virtuous deeds
Have sprung up, and have given,
Already, fruits of which to taste is heaven!
And though no grassy mound

Or granite pile say 'tis heroic ground

Where my remains repose,

Still will I hope-vain hope, perhaps!-that those Which I have striven to bless,

The wanderer reclaimed, the fatherless,

May stand around my grave,

With the poor prisoner, and the poorer slave,

And breathe an humble prayer,

That they may die like him whose bones are mould

ering there.

John Pierpont, Conn., 1785-1806.

36. A Good Life.

He lives who lives to God alone,
And all are dead beside;
For other source than God is none
Whence life can be supplied.

To live to God is to requite
His love as best we may;
To make His precepts our delight,
His promises our stay.

But life within a narrow ring

Of giddy joys comprised

Is falsely named, and no such thing,
But rather death disguised.

37. Philanthropy.

Wm. Cowper.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,

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An angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,-
"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel.-Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still, and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished.

The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had

blessed,

And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Leigh Hunt, England, 1784-1859.

38. The Moss Rose.

The angel of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,—
That spirit to whose charge 'tis given

To bathe young buds in dews of heaven,
Awaking from his light repose,

The angel whispered to the rose:
"O fondest object of my care,

Still fairest found, where all are fair;
For the sweet shade thou giv'st me,
Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee.”
"Then," said the rose, with deepened glow,
"On me another grace bestow."

The spirit paused, in silent thought,-
What grace was there the flower had not?
'Twas but a moment,-o'er the rose
A veil of moss the angel throws,
And robed in nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that rose exceed?

F. A. Krummacher, Germany, 1768-1845.

39. Neglected Opportunity.

There is a tide in the affairs of men,

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat:

And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

W. Shakespeare, England, 1564-1616.

40. Disaster.

Never stoops the soaring vulture
On his quarry in the desert,
On the sick or wounded bison,
But another vulture, watching
From his high aërial lookout,

Sees the downward plunge, and follows;
And a third pursues the second,
Coming from the invisible ether,
First a speck, and then a vulture,
Till the air is dark with pinions.
So disaster comes not singly;
But as if they watched and waited,
Scanning one another's motions,
When the first descends, the others
Follow, follow, gathering flock-wise
Round their victim, sick and wounded,
First a shadow, then a sorrow,
Till the air is dark with anguish.

H. W. Longfellow, Maine, 1807—.

41.

Some feelings are to mortals given,

With less of earth in them than heaven;

And if there be a human tear

From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek
It would not stain an angel's cheek,-
"Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head.

W. Scott, Scotland, 1771-1832.

42. Ignorance May be Bliss.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate
All but the page prescribed, their present state;
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know,
Or who could suffer being here below?

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food,
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
O blindness to the future! kindly given,

That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven;
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish or a sparrow fall;

Atoms or systems into ruin hurled,

And now a bubble burst, and now a world.
Hope humbly, then, with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher, Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, He gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never is, but always to be blest;
The soul, uneasy and confined from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

A. Pope, England, 1688-1744.

43. How to Rise.

Heaven is not gained at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.

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