He loved-but whom he loved, the grave The rolling seasons, day and night- He saw-whatever thou hast seen, The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye, No vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race, Their ruins since the world began, Of him afford no other trace, Than this-THERE LIVED A MAN. FORTUNE. THERE is a tide in the affairs of men, THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye: Once on the raging seas I rode The storm was loud, the night was dark; The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark: Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck-I ceased the tide to stem, When suddenly a star arose It was the star of Bethlehem! It was my guide, my light, my all; The star-the star of Bethlehem! THE MYRTLE. 3. Montgomery. DARK green, and gemm'd with flowers of snow, Its mantle of unwithering leaf, Still life, methought, is thine, fair tree! The delicate small foliage bruised. Odors, by my rude touch set free, Then should affliction's chastening rod Life, a sweet sacrifice to God, Outbreathed like incense, would depart. The Captain of salvation thus, When as a lamb to slaughter led, Was by the Father's will for us, Himself through suffering perfected. BIRDS IN SUMMER. How pleasant the life of a bird must be, In the leafy trees so broad and tall, And the frolicsome winds as they wander by. They have left their nests in the forest bough; Those homes of delight they need not now: And the young and the old they wander out, And traverse the green world round about; And hark! at the top of this leafy hall, How one to the other they lovingly call: 'Come up, come up!' they seem to say, 'Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway.' 'Come up, come up! for the world is fair, And the birds below give back the cry, And away through the air what joy to go, How pleasant the life of a bird must be, And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home. What joy it must be to sail, upborne By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn, To meet the young sun face to face, And pierce like a shaft the boundless space! How pleasant the life of a bird must be, |