Gay youth, no less than tott'ring age,
Together rest in Death's embrace:
Go read the monumental page,

And there this gloomy moral trace—
The gay, the grave, youth, age, are found
Alike beneath the grassy mound.

Beyond this dark and narrow sphere,

So mark'd by Death, so touch'd by Time,
Where joy ne'er melts in sorrow's tear;
There surely is some happier clime!
This thought should every grief assuage,
From every heart its gloom efface:
Go read the consecrated page,

And there the fond assurance trace-
Beyond the starry skies they roam,
There lies the ransom'd spirit's home.

The Fashion of this World Passeth Away.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.-Air, Bingly.

HE fashion of this world passeth away,

THE

The things that are fairest are first to decay;
The bell of the lily, the leaf of the rose;

The moss on the bank where the violet grows;
All these are too sweet and too fragile to stay,
For the fashion of this world passeth away.

But mourn not the doom of inanimate things;
See thy favourite bird, with its beautiful wings;
Thy dog, full of instinct that courts a caress,
And scarcely wants language his words to express;
The steed thou art proud of-all—all must decay,
For the fashion of this world passeth away.

Prayer at Midnight.

And were we not born for a worthier end,

Than to love him, and lose him? Oh! what were a friend!

187

The fond heart looks forth from its pilgrimage here
To a meeting more blest in a happier sphere.
For this we must watch, and for this we must pray,
Since the fashion of this world passeth away.

Prayer at Midnight.

A. DE VERE.

HE stars shine bright while earth is dark!

ΤΗ

While all the woods are dumb,

How clear those far-off silver chimes
From tower and turret come.

Chilly but sweet, the midnight air:
And lo! with every sound,

Down from the ivy-leaf a drop

Falls glittering on the ground.

'Twas night when Christ was born on earth; Night heard His first, faint cry;

While angels caroll'd round the star

Of the Epiphany.

Alas! and is our love too weak

To meet Him on His way?

To pray for nations in their sleep?
For Love then let us pray.

Pray for the millions slumbering now;

The sick who cannot sleep;

Oh, may those sweet sounds waft them thoughts As peaceful, and as deep.

Pray for the unholy, and the vain :

Oh, may that pure-toned bell

Disperse the demon powers of air,
And evil dreams dispel!

And ever let us wing our prayer
With praise: and ever say,

Glory to God who makes the night
Benignant as the day!

Affliction.

BISHOP WILBERFORCE.

ITHIN this leaf, to every eye

WIT

So little worth, doth hidden lie

Most rare and subtle fragrancy.

Wouldst thou its secret strength unbind?
Crush it, and thou perfume shall find
Sweet as Arabia's spicy wind.

In this stone, so poor and bare
Of shape and lustre, patient care
Will find for thee a jewel rare.

But first must skilful hands assay
With file and flint to clear away
The film which hides its fire from day.

"Let not the Sun go Down on your Wrath." 189

This leaf! this stone! it is thy heart :
It must be crush'd by pain and smart,
It must be cleansed by sorrow's art,

Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet,
Ere it will shine, a jewel neat,

To lay before thy dear Lord's feet.

"Let not the Sun go Down on your Wrath."

J. E. CARPENTER.-Music by J. R. Thomas.

JHEN in thy bosom the wrath has been kindled,

WHE

Bear with thy wrong, not in anger defend;

Turn not away from the crowd where you mingled,
Leaving a foe where you sought for a friend :

Speak not in anger, but rather in sorrow;

Part, and though each take a different path,
Both may be wiser and better to-morrow;

"Let not the sun go down on your wrath."

What though your prospects a moment seem blighted,
Trusting to others, by others betray'd,

There is not a wrong that can never be righted;
Justice was never by quarrelling made.

Urge but the truth, and be guided by reason,
Leaving to others the opposite path,

So will you triumph-but all in good season ;-
"Let not the sun go down on your wrath."

Different Minds.

ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.

SOME murmur, when the sky is clear

And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue :
And some with thankful love are fill'd
If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy, gild
The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task
And all good things denied:
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How Love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

Resignation.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.-Music by Miss Lindsay.

THERE

HERE is no flock, however watch'd and tended,
But one dead lamb is there;

There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended,

But has one vacant chair.

The air is full of farewells to the dying

And mournings for the dead;

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying,
Will not be comforted.