THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE.

My Muse has oft slumbered in life's busy day,
And seldom I've sought her, as having no leisure;
At the moment, however, while time glides away
In the quiet of age, let me yield to the pleasure.

And oh! in the scenes on my fancy that burst,

And on which with delight or with sadness I linger,

Say, what shall arrest my attention the first?

Where, where shall I place me—where point the fixed finger?

Shall I dwell upon childhood, or press on to youth,

Or look only on manhood, or Death's lessons ponder?

Shall I mourn, or rejoice, or administer truth,

Or most at man's folly or GOD'S mercy wonder?

I gaze on the palace, contemplate the cot,

Mark the tower, see the ocean, view landscapes wide-spreading, And I feel, while I think on man's changeable lot,

Compassion its influence o'er my heart shedding:

And I cry, 'O ye triflers, ye murmurers, say,

Could your wishes be realized, what were the blessing

'Most anxiously sought, to make happy your day

'Of existence, and crown you with bliss worth possessing?'

'I'd have power,' says the statesman; 'broad empire,' the king;
'More lands,' shouts the rich; and 'no labor,' the peasant;
And so through the catalogue! Hope seeks to bring
Enjoyment from change, and depreciates the present:

While yet, would we weigh our condition with care,
And be just to that Wisdom our follies which chastens,
We should see many blessings that fall to our share,
Though the crown of our wishes its advent ne'er hastens.
GOD denies in His love, and withholds what we seek,
In tender compassion, well knowing our blindness.
Let us yield, be submissive, and patient, and meek,
Adoring His mercy, and trusting His kindness.

This, this is our wisdom. Alone it deserves

The name of philosophy; nor can the science
Man proudly may boast, while as yet he but serves
His passions, afford for his woes an appliance.

This life is a trial. Our world cannot fill

The void of the heart, which too surely is boundless.
GOD will discipline, rectify, govern man's will,

And eternity show our complaining is groundless:

There, we may, when we know what we see here in part,
Life's philosophy prize, as we find it resulting

In bliss springing forth from a purified heart,

Without ceasing, in love, joy, and wonder exulting.

Why should we not, then, as life hurries away, Submit us to GOD, and fall in with the measures His Wisdom employs, from His paths lest we stray, And fail to inherit His blood-purchased treasures? January 30, 1847.

BASIL.

-Widow Elisa-Widow George, beth Hubbard,