I thought of the friends, who had roamed with me there, I thought of the green banks, that circled around, As the face of the sky on a blue summer night: And I thought of the trees, under which we had strayed, All eager, I hastened the scene to behold, 'Twas a dream!-not a token or trace could 1 view And methought the lone river, that murmured along, I paused:-and the moral came home to my heart :- Then, O, let us look-let our prospects allure- O'er the blightings of Change, and the ruins of Time. LESSON LXIX. The Little Graves.-ANONYMOUS. "TWAS autumn, and the leaves were dry And rustled on the ground, And chilly winds went whistling by, As through the grave-yard's lone retreat I walked, with slow and cautious feet, Three little graves, ranged side by side, O'er two, the tall grass, bending, sighed, As, lingering there, I mused awhile Her form was bowed, but not with years, A prattling boy, some four years old, "Mămma,* now you must love me more For little sister's dead; And t'other sister died before, 'Mamma, what made sweet sister die? She loved me when we played: You told me, if I would not cry, "Tis here, my child, that sister lies 'Mamma, why can't we take her up, I'll feed her from my little cup, 'For sister'll be afraid to lie No, sister is not cold, my child; As he looked down from heaven and smiled "And then her spirit quickly fled "Mamma, won't she be hungry there "Păpa' must go and carry some; And he must bring sweet sister home LESSON LXX. Life and Death.-NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. O FEAR not thou to die! But rather fear to live; for life Has thousand snares thy feet to try, By peril, pain, and strife. Brief is the work of death; But life!-the spirit shrinks to see How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, The cup of wo may be. O fear not thou to die! No more to suffer or to sin; No snares without, thy faith to try, No traitor heart within: But fear, O! rather fear, The gay, the light, the changeful scene The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From heaven thy heart to wean. Fear, lest, in evil hour,— Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome, The covering throws of fell despair; O fear not thou to die! To die, and be that blessed one, Who, in the bright and beauteous sky, May feel his conflict done May feel that, never more, The tear of grief or shame shall come, For thousand wanderings from the Power Who loved, and called him home! 12 LESSON LXXI. The Burial of Arnold.*-N. P. WILLIS YE'VE gathered to your place of prayer, He was the proudest in his strength, Ye reckon it in days, since he To mark whose lamp was dim, Whose was the sinewy arm, which flung Whose laugh of victory loudest rung, Whose heart, in generous deed and thought On now-his requiem is done, Slow, for our thoughts dwell wearily Tread lightly, comrades!-we have laid A member of the senior class in Yale College. |