AMERICAN COMMON-PLACE BOOK OF POETRY. A Sacred Melody.-ANONYMOUS. BE thou, O God! by night, by day, Pure as the air, when day's first light And active as the lark, that soars Till heaven shine round its plumes. So may my soul, upon the wings Till at the gate of heaven it sings, Active Christian Benevolence the Source of sublime and lasting Happiness.-CARLOS WILCOX. WOULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief? Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers, Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite, Some high or humble enterprise of good With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind; No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers. Has immortality of name been given To them that idly worship hills and groves, To measure worlds, and follow where each moves? Beware lest thou, from sloth, that would appear Thy want of worth; a charge thou couldst not hear Or pride indignant; then be thine the blame, |