But present still, though now unseen!
When brightly shines | the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of Thee | a cloudy screen,
To temper the deceitful ray.

And oh! when stoops | on Judah's path,
In shade and storm, the frequent night,
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and a shining light.

Our harps' we left | by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn;
No censer round our altar' beams,

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn.
But Thou hast said, "The blood of goats,
The flesh of rams | I will not prize;
A contrite heart, an humble thought,
Are mine accepted sacrifice."

IX.-Spring, the Morning of Life.

SWEET is the time of spring,
When Nature's charms appear,

The birds with ceaseless pleasure' sing,
And hail the approaching year:
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But sweeter far' the spring |

Of wisdom and of grace,

When children' bless' and praise' their King, Who loves the youthful race.

Sweet' is the dawn of day,

When light' just streaks the sky; When shades and darkness' pass away, And morning's beams | are nigh:

But sweeter far the dawn |
Of piety' in youth;

When doubt and darkness | are withdrawn,
Before the light of truth.

Sweet' is the early dew,

Which gilds' the mountain tops, Which decks' each plant and flower' we view | With pearly' glittering drops:

But sweeter far the scene |

On Zion's holy hill;

When there the "Dew of youth" | is seen
Its freshness to distil.

Sweet is the opening flower |

Which just begins to bloom, Which every day and every hour | Fresh beauties will assume:

But sweeter that young heart, Where faith, and love, and peace, Blossom and bloom | in every part, With sweet' and varied grace.

Oh may life's early spring,
And morning, ere they flee,
Youth's dew, and its fair blossoming,
Be given, my God, to Thee.

X-We are Seven.

I met a little cottage girl,

She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl,
That cluster'd round her head.

"Sisters and brothers, little maid,
How many may you be?"

"How many?-seven in all," she said,
And wondering 'look'd at me.
"And where are they, I pray you tell ?
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea;
"Two of us ' in the churchyard lie,
My sister' and my brother;
And in the churchyard cottage 'I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two' at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet'

you are seven; I pray you tell,
Sweet maid, how this may be."
Then did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."
"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;

If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied,

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,

And they are side by side.

"My stockings there' I often knit,
My 'kerchief' there I hem;

And there' upon the ground I sit,
I sit and sing to them.

"And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light' and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

"The first that died | was little Jane ;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God reliev'd her of her pain,
And then she went away.

"So in the churchyard' she was laid,
And all the summer dry,

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Together round her grave' we play'd,
My brother John' and I.

"And when the ground

was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John | was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven ?"
The little maiden' did reply,

"O master! we are seven.'

"But they are dead, those two are dead, Their spirits are in heaven."

'Twas throwing words away; for still | The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay' we are seven."

XI-A Dirge:

"Earth to earth, and dust to dust
Here the evil' and the just,

Here the youthful ' and the old,
Here the fearful' and the bold,
Here the matron' and the maid,
In one 'silent' bed | are laid;
Here the vassal' and the king,
Side by side' lie withering.

Here the sword' and sceptre | rust-
« Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

Age on age shall roll along,
O'er this pale' and mighty throng:
Those that wept them, those that weep,
All' shall with these sleepers' sleep.
Brothers, sisters' of the worm,
Summer's sun, or winter's storm,
peace ' or battle's roar,

Song of

Ne'er shall break their slumbers more,
Death' shall keep his sullen trust-
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

But a day is coming fast,

Earth, thy mightiest and thy last:
It shall come ' in fear' and wonder,
Heralded by trump ' and thunder;
It shall come' in strife' and toil,
It shall come in blood' and spoil;
It shall come in empire's groans,
Burning temples, trampled thrones.
Then, ambition, rue thy lust!

Rise from earth, and wake from dust!

XII. The World a Passing Show.

This world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion' given;