some darling child, whom God hath taken to himself? These are no days of miracle, but dost thou not know that thy child shall rise again from the dead? Let thine own heart be given to God, and then thou shalt meet thy darling one, never to be separated.

PASSAGES.

I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.

ECCL. I. 17.

ASK of the dreams which come to bless

Life's early and unsullied hours;

Which scatter o'er its wilderness

Their golden sunshine and their flowers :—
Ask why their magic whispering

Of hope and promise to the heart,

Breathing in balm, like winds of spring

Why do they all so soon depart?

Earth has no light which lingers on,
When time's triumphant surge goes by;
How soon the magic hues are gone
That flush in childhood's cloudless sky.
The hues of joy! their spring-like glow
Is like a sunbeam on the wave:

Ere grief comes forth her pall to throw On pleasure's chill and lonely grave.

Fame, youth, and hope of earthly bliss,
How quickly are their visions fled!
And the heart broods in loneliness,
Above the slumbers of the dead:
Friends, kindred sink in that lone sleep
Which must to all in darkness come,
When death's cold pinions oversweep
The voiceless chambers of the tomb.

Ask, of that blest and blessing king
Who reigned in proud Jerusalem,
Why o'er the joys that earth could bring
He poured the mournful requiem?
All hopes were his ;-all that the earth
Could bring to bless his longing soul:
The hours of love-the songs of mirth-
The race that led to honour's goal.

He basked in the luxuriant light
Which beams from woman's kindly eye,
And health and peace and visions bright
Came to his spirit, wild and high;

There was no blessing not his own,
No pleasure which he left untried;
Justice and wisdom marked his throne,
And each decision sanctified.

The voice of fame was in his ear,
His name to distant lands was borne;
How are its clarion-breathings dear
In being's bland and early morn!
And queenly heads low at his feet,
In orient beauty came and bowed,
His honour and his reign to greet,
His temple, swelling high and proud!

Gold, pearls and treasure were his dower,
Gardens of beauty and perfume;

He worshipped love in summer bower,
In forms of loveliness and bloom;
Around him lay one joyous scene

Of unalloyed and calm delight;

The earth laughed out in robes of green,

And heaven's blue arch was bathed in light!

And on the rich and silver air,

Voluptuous music poured its strain,

And in his path the young and fair
Scattered their roses in his train;
All that could bless the ardent soul
From earth was in his chalice blent,-
His pleasures were without control
And boundless as the firmament.

Yet it was vain! upon his eye
The bowers of earthly joy grew dim;
The fountain lost its melody,

It had no gladsome voice for him;
Woman with smiles-the teeming earth,
The winds with fragrance on their wings,
Burdened with sweet and blended mirth,
And dallying with Eolian strings:

These had no charm; the song, the glee, The praises of the multitude;

The wild bird's warbled melody,

Stealing o'er flowers with

gems

All, all were vanity: the glow,

bedewed:

The sunlight of the wide world's smile,
With all the phantoms they bestow,

Had naught which could the heart beguile.