Although we scarce might hope, on earth, To see thy smiles again,

Yet some such thoughts must still survive,
Where life and love remain :-

The first, with thee is closed! the last-
Shall still thy witness be;

Not e'en thy death can overcast
The hours once spent with thee.

But O! amongst us there is one
Whose hopes were so entwined

With thee; thy death scarce seems to leave

An earthly joy behind :

:

Yet unto HER-Religion yields

Hopes more exalted still,

Which, born of Faith, and fix'd on Heaven, God only can fulfil.

C

MAN'S LONG HOME.

"Man goeth to his long home."

THERE is a spot of earth

Which mars the hour of mirth,

Knowing that there its merriment must cease;

But to the mourner's breast

It whispers thoughts of rest,

And seems the haven where he hopes for peace.

It is the silent Grave!

From which no art can save

The proud, the rich, the gay, the brave, the fair; All,-all in turn must come

To that appointed home,

And wait the awful sound of the last trumpet there.

The fearful thought of this

May to the Worldling's bliss Be like the canker-worm that works unseen;

Those who, like Dives, know

Their good things here below,

May wish ETERNITY What TIME has been.

But can they reason thus

Who, with poor Lazarus,

Find in this life its evil things their lot?
Who, with the morning light,

And each returning night,

Mourn for what is, and sigh for what is not?

These well may comprehend

"The world is not their friend," Nor yet the sordid world's " unfeeling law :”— Then wherefore cling to life,

When, from such hopeless strife,

Death gives the welcome signal to withdraw?

What can existence give,

To those who only live

Moments of sunshine in long years of shade?
And find alike in each

A grief defying speech,

The sickness of the heart from hope delay'd?

One hope for such remains!

When Death shall break the chains,

That God may take them to his glorious rest,
And through the vict'ry won

By HIS REDEEMING SON,

Their souls may own Earth's last long home-its BEST!

AN ODE TO TIME.

SPIRIT! if I

may call thee such,

Beneath whose silent sway

Structures, defying grosser touch,

In fragments fall away:

Essence, or shadow, whatsoe❜er

Thou art ;-with mingled hope and fear,

I frame this votive lay:

For feelings I can ill define

With every thought of thee combine.