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COT the ship that swiftest saileth,
But which longest holds her way
Onward, onward, never faileth,
O'er life's ocean, wide and pathless,
Thus would I with patience steer ;
No proud boast to face down fear ;
SPEED THE PROW.
Time there was,—'tis so no longer,
When I crowded every sail,
Grew, as stronger grew the gale;
There my bark had founder'd surely,
But a power invisible
Borne along the gradual swell,
Now, though evening shadows blacken,
And no star comes through the gloom, On I move, nor will I slacken
Sail, though verging tow'rds the tomb: Bright beyond,-on heaven's high strand, Lo, the lighthouse —land, land, land!
Cloud and sunshine, wind and weather,
Sense and sight are fleeing fast;
SPEED THE PROW.
Time and tide must fail together,
Life and death will soon be past ; But where day's last spark declines, Glory everlasting shines.
NE year ago,—a ringing voice, a clear blue
eye, And clustering curls of sunny hair, too fair
Only a year,-no voice, no smile, no glance of
eye, No clustering curls of golden hair, fair but to die !
One year ago,—what loves, what schemes far into
What joyous hopes, what high resolves, what
generous strife !
The silent picture on the wall, the burial-stone,
ONLY A YEAR.
One year,-one year,—one little
and so much gone! And yet the even flow of life moves calmly on.
The grave grows green, the flowers bloom fair,
above that head : No sorrowing tint of leaf or spray says he is dead.
No pause or hush of merry birds, that sing above, Tells us how coldly sleeps below the form we love.
Where hast thou been this year, beloved ? what'
hast thou seen ? What visions fair, what glorious life, where thou
hast been ?
The veil ! the veil! so thin, so strong ! 'twixt us
and thee; The mystic veil ! when shall it fall, that we may see?
Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone, but present
still, And waiting for the coming hour of God's sweet