A page on which the angels look,

Which insects understand!
And here, O light! minutely fair,
Divinely plain and clear,

Like splinters of a crystal hair,

Thy bright small hand is here!
Yon drop-fed lake, six inches wide,
Is Huron, girt with wood;
This driplet feeds Missouri's tide-

And that, Niagara's flood.

What tidings from the Andes brings

Yon line of liquid light,

That down from heaven in madness flings

The blind foam of its might?

Do I not hear his thunder roll-
The roar that ne'er is still ?

'Tis mute as death!-but in my soul

It roars, and ever will.

What forests tall of tiniest moss

Clothe every little stone!

What pigmy oaks their foliage toss

O'er pigmy valleys lone!

With shade o'er shade, from ledge to ledge,

Ambitious of the sky,

They feather o'er the steepest edge

Of mountains mushroom-high.

Oh, God of marvels! who can tell
What myriad living things

On these grey stones unseen may dwell!—
What nations, with their kings!

I feel no shock, I hear no groan,
While fate, perchance, o'erwhelms
Empires on this subverted stone—
A hundred ruined realms!

Lo! in that dot, some mite, like me,
Impelled by woe or whim,

May crawl, some atom's cliffs to see-
A tiny world to him!

Lo! while he pauses, and admires
The works of nature's might,
Spurned by my foot, his world expires,
And all to him is night!

Oh, God of terrors! what are we?—
Poor insects sparked with thought!
Thy whisper, Lord, a word from thee,
Could smite us into nought!

But should'st thou wreck our father-land,
And mix it with the deep,

Safe in the hollow of thy hand

Thy little one will sleep.

1

CATO

REASONING ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

IT must be so: Plato, thou reasonest well!
Else whence this pleasing hope-this fond desire-
This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,
Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the Soul
Back on herself, and startles at destruction?
'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.

Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being-

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass !
The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.
Here will I hold! If there's a Power above us,
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud

78 CATO ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.

Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy.

Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life,
My bane and antidote, are both before me :
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this informs me I shall never die.
The Soul, secured in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth,
Unhurt amidst the wars of elements,

The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds!

ADDISON.

THE TRIALS OF

GRACE HUNTLEY.

BY MRS. S. C. HALL.

"Virtue is not more exempt than vice from the ills of fate; but it contains within itself always an energy to resist them, and sometimes an anodyne to soothe."

THE DISOWNED.

"WE will call her Grace," said a pale, delicatelooking young woman to her husband, as she raised the white flannel hood, that he might gaze upon the features of their new-born babe. "Abel, I never expected to be the mother of a living child; but God has been merciful; so we will give to her the gentle name of Grace; and, dearest, let us pray that, in all the troubles and trials of life, not the name merely, but the spirit, may dwell with her!"

It was only a few weeks afterwards that the grave closed over the fair young mother; but the blessing wherewith she had blessed her child had been heard and registered in heaven.