NOT VERY FAR.

SURELY, yon heaven, where angels see God's face,

Is not so distant as we deem

From this low earth? 'Tis but a little space,
The narrow crossing of a slender stream ;
'Tis but a veil, which winds might blow aside :
Yes, these are all that us of earth divide,
From the bright dwelling of the glorified,--
The Land of which I dream!

These peaks are nearer heaven than earth below, These hills are higher than they seem ;

'Tis not the clouds they touch, nor the soft brow Of the o'er-bending azure as we deem.

'Tis the blue floor of heaven that they up-bear; And like some old and wildly rugged stair,

They lift us to the land where all is fair,—
The Land of which I dream!

These ocean-waves, in their unmeasured sweep, Are brighter, bluer than they seem;

True image here of the celestial deep,

Fed from the fulness of the unfailing stream,

Heaven's glassy sea of everlasting rest,

With not breath to stir its silent breast,

The sea that laves the land where all are blest,-
The Land of which I dream!

And these keen stars, the bridal gems of Night,
Are purer, lovelier than they seem ;
Filled from the inner fountain of deep light,
They pour down heaven's own beam ;
Clear-speaking from their throne of glorious blue,
In accents ever ancient, ever new,

Of the glad home above, beyond our view,-
The Land of which I dream!

This life of ours, these lingering years of earth,
Are briefer, swifter than they seem ;

A little while, and the great second birth

Of time shall come, the prophet's ancient theme! Then He, the King, the Judge at length shall come, And for this desert, where we sadly roam,

Shall give the kingdom for our endless home,—
The Land of which I dream !

THE EVERLASTING MEMORIAL.

Up and away, like the dew of the morning,
Soaring from earth to its home in the sun,-
So let me steal away, gently and lovingly,
Only remembered by what I have done.

My name and my place and my tomb, all forgotten,
The brief race of time well and patiently run,
So let me pass away, peacefully, silently,
Only remembered by what I have done.

Gladly away from this toil would I hasten,

Up to the crown that for me has been won ; Unthought of by man in rewards or in praises,— Only remembered by what I have done.

Up and away, like the odours of sunset,

That sweeten the twilight as darkness comes on,—

So be my life, a thing felt but not noticed,

And I but remembered by what I have done.

Yes, like the fragrance that wanders in freshness,

When the flowers that it came from are closed up

and gone,

So would I be to this world's weary dwellers,
Only remembered by what I have done.

Needs there the praise of the love-written record, The name and the epitaph graved on the stone? The things we have lived for,-let them be our story, We ourselves but remembered by what we have

done.

I need not be missed, if my life has been bearing
(As its summer and autumn moved silently on)
The bloom, and the fruit, and the seed of its season;
I shall still be remembered by what I have done.

I need not be missed, if another succeed me,

To

reap down those fields which in spring I have

sown;

He who ploughed and who sowed is not missed by the

reaper,

He is only remembered by what he has done.

Not myself, but the truth that in life I have spoken,
Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown,
Shall pass on to ages, all about me forgotten,
Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have
done.

So let my living be, so be my dying;

So let my name lie, unblazoned, unknown; Unpraised and unmissed, I shall still be remembered d; Yes, but remembered by what I have done.

OUR ONE LIFE.

"Tis not for man to trifle!

Life is brief,

And sin is here.

Our

age

is but the falling of a leaf,

A dropping tear.

We have no time to sport away the hours,
All must be earnest in a world like ours.

Not many lives, but only one have we,—
One, only one ;-