LINES WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD. 385

A happier lot than mine, and larger light,

Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will
In cheerful homage to the rule of right,
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.

For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,

Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll;
And wrath has left its scar-that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.

Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,
The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?

Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this-

The wisdom which is love--till I become
Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?

WILLIAM C. BRYANT.

Lines written in a Churchyard.

"It is good for us to be here. If thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias."

METHINKS it is good to be here;

If thou wilt, let us build-but for whom?

Nor Elias nor Moses appear;

But the shadows of eve that encompass with gloom
The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? Ah no!

Affrighted he shrinketh away;

For see, they would pen him below

In a small narrow cave and begirt with cold clay,
To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? Ah no! she forgets

The charms which she wielded before;

Nor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore,
For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of Pride?

To the trappings which dizen the proud?

Alas! they are all laid aside,

And here 's neither dress nor adornment allowed,
But the long winding-sheet, and the fringe of the shroud.

To Riches? Alas, 't is in vain! Who hid, in their turns have been hid:

The treasures are squandered again;

And here in the grave are all metals forbid,
But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin-lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford,

The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a plentiful board!

But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer,
And none but the worm is a reveler here.

Shall we build to Affection and Love?

Ah no! they have withered and died,
Or fled with the spirit above.

Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side,
Yet none have saluted, and none have replied.

Unto Sorrow?—the dead cannot grieve;

Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear,

Which compassion itself could relieve.
Ah, sweetly they slumber, nor love, hope, or fear;
Peace, peace is the watchword, the only one here.

SHALL I FEAR, O EARTH, THY BOSOM? 387

Unto Death, to whom monarchs must bow?

Ah no! for his empire is known,

And here there are trophies enow!

Beneath, the cold dead, and around, the dark stone,
Are the signs of a scepter that none may disown.

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build, And look for the sleepers around us to rise.

The second to Faith, that insures it fulfilled;

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice,

Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies.

HERBERT KNOWLES.

Shall I Fear, O Earth, thy Bosom?

HALL I fear, O earth, thy bosom?

SHAI

Shrink and faint to lay me there,

Whence the fragrant lovely blossom
Springs to gladden earth and air?

Whence the tree, the brook, the river,
Soft clouds floating in the sky,
All fair things come, whispering ever
Of the love divine on high?

Yea, whence One arose victorious
O'er the darkness of the grave,
His strong arm revealing, glorious
In its might divine to save?

No, fair Earth! a tender mother

Thou hast been, and yet canst be ;

And through him, my Lord and Brother,

Sweet shall be my rest in thee!

THOMAS DAVIS.

"My Times are in Thy Hand."

Psalm xxxi. 15.

FATHER, I know that all my life

Is portioned out for me:

And the changes that are sure to come
I do not fear to see;

But I ask thee for a present mind
Intent on pleasing thee.

I ask thee for a thankful love,
Through constant watching wise,
To greet the glad with joyful smiles,
And to wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,

Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know;
I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,

I have a fellowship with hearts,
To keep and cultivate;

And a lowly work of love to do,

For the Lord on whom I wait.

So I ask thee for the daily strength,

To none that ask denied ;

And a mind to blend with outward things

While keeping at thy side;

Content to fill a little space,

If thou be glorified.

A STRIP OF BLUE.

And if some things I do not ask,

In my cup of blessing be,

I would have my spirit filled the more
With grateful love to thee-

More careful than to serve thee much
To please thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path,

That call for patient care;

There is a crook in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart that leans on thee, Is happy everywhere.

In a service that thy love appoints
There are no bonds for me,

For my secret heart has learned the truth
That makes thy children free;

And a life of self-renouncing love

Is a life of liberty.

ANONYMOUS.

I

A Strip of Blue.

Do not own an inch of land,

But all I see is mine

The orchard and the mowing-fields,

The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine-
Wild scents and subtle essences,
A tribute rare and free:
And more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity-
A little strip of sea.

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