Wrapt in the future, present, past,

Fade to the Christian's eye; Ages no length'ning shadows cast

O'er the soul's divinity—

Roll on, roll on.

Enraptured with its heavenly view,

Stream after stream of light

Breaks through the world's dark avenue,

Till faith is lost in sight

Roll on, roll on.

Yea! though a wreck upon the sands
Left by the ebbing wave,

This body lie, I'll burst thy bands,

Time! with thy yawning grave—

Roll on, roll on.

REV. W G. MOORE.

TIME.

HIS shadow on the dial's face
That steals from day to day,

With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Moments, and months, and years away;
This shadow, which, in every clime,

Since light and motion first began, Hath held its course sublime;

What is it? mortal man!

It is the scythe of time:-
A shadow only to the eye;
Yet, in its calm career,

It levels all beneath the sky,

And still, through each succeeding year, Right onward, with resistless power,

Its stroke shall darken every hour,

Till nature's race be run,

And time's last shadow shall eclipse the sun.

Nor only o'er the dial's face,

This silent phantom, day by day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Steals moments, months, and years away
From hoary rock, and aged tree,

From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls,

From Teneriffe, towering o'er the sea;
From every blade of grass, it falls;
For still where'er a shadow sweeps,
The scythe of time destroys,

And man at every footstep weeps

O'er evanescent joys;

Life's flowerets glittering with the dews of morn,
Fair for a moment, then for ever shorn;—

Ah soon beneath the inevitable blow,

I too shall lie, in dust and ashes low.
Then time, the conqueror, will suspend
His scythe, a trophy, on my tomb,
Whose moving shadow shall portend
Each frail beholder's doom,

O'er the wide earth's illumined space,

Though time's triumphant flight be shown,—
The truest index on its face,

Points from the churchyard stone.

MONTGOMERY.

O more!

NO MORE.

A harp string's deep and breaking tone,

A last, low, summer breeze, a far off swell,

A dying echo of rich music gone,

Breathe through those words—those murmurs of farewell

To dwell in peace, with home affections bound,

To know the sweetness of a mother's voice,

No more!

To feel the spirit of her love around,

And in the blessing of her eye rejoice—

No more!

A dirge-like sound! To greet the early friend
Unto the hearth, his place of many days;
In the glad song with kindred lips to blend,

Or join the household laughter by the blaze-
No more!

Through woods that shadowed our first years to rove With all our native music in the air;

To watch the sunset with the eyes we love,

And turn, and read our own heart's answer there-

No more!

Words of despair!—yet earth's, all earth's the woe Their passion breathes-the desolately deep That sound in heaven-oh! image then the flow Of gladness in its tones-to part, to weep—

To watch, in dying hope, affection's wane,
To see the beautiful from life depart,

To wear impatiently a secret chain,

No more!

To waste the untold riches of the heart—

No more!

Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn.
For human love-and never quench that thirst;

To pour the soul out, winning no return,
O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed—

No more!

On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean,

To mourn the changed, the far away, the dead; To send our troubled spirits, through the unseen, Intensely questioning for treasures fled

No more!

Words of triumphant music! Bear me on
The weight of life, the chain, the ungenial air;
Their deathless meaning, when our tasks are done,
To learn to joy, to struggle, to despair-

No more!

MRS. HEMANS

"NOT NOW."

AINTER her slow step falls from day to dayDeath's hand is heavy on her darkening brow, Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say— I am content to die; but oh, not now! Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring

Make the warm air such luxury to breatheNot while the birds such lays of gladness sing

Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping brow, I am content to die; but oh, not now!

The spring hath ripened into summer-time;
The season's viewless boundary is past;

The glorious sun hath reached his burning prime:
Oh, must this glimpse of beauty be the last?
Let me not perish while o'er land and lea,

With silent steps, the lord of light moves on;
Not while the murmur of the mountain bee

Greets my dull ear, with music in its tone.
Pale sickness dims my eye, and clouds my brow :
I am content to die; but oh, not now!

Summer is gone, and autumn's sober hues

Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn; The huntsman swift the flying game pursues, Shouts the halloo, and winds his eager horn: Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze

On the broad meadows and the quiet stream—

To watch in silence, while the evening rays

Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam. Cooler the breezes play around my brow:

I am content to die; but oh, not now!

The bleak winds whistle-snow-showers, far and near
Drift without echo to the whitening ground;
Autumn hath passed away, and cold and drear
Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound:
Yet still that prayer ascends-"O laughingly

My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd:
Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high,
And the roof rings with voices light and loud!
Spare me awhile, raise up my drooping brow;
I am content to die; but oh, not now!

The spring is come again,-the joyful spring:
Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread;
The wild bird dips again his wanton wing-

The child of earth is numbered with the dead! "Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,

Beaming all redly through the lattice pane;
The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break,
Nor fond, familiar voice arouse again!

Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened brow;
Why did'st thou linger-thou art happier now!"

ANON.

THE EVE OF THE DESTRUCTION OF
THE WORLD.

UT dust upon your heads, lament and weep,
And utter all your minstrelsy of woe!

Go to, ye wicked, weep and howl; for all
That God hath written against you is at hand.
The cry of violence hath reached his ear,
Hell is prepared, and Justice whets his sword.