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Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound;
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.

A few short years—and then these soun:ls shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale ; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ; The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine : And basking in the chimney's ample blaze, Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,

'Twas on these knees be sat so oft and smiled.'

And soon again shall music swell the breeze ;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white ; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round; and old and young,
In every cottage-porch with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene ;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride,

And once, alas ! nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weeping's heard where only joy bas been ;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.

And such is human life ;-50 gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone !
Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,
As full methinks of wild and wondrous change,

any that the wandering tribes require,
Stretched in the desert round their evening-fire;
As any sung of old in hall or bower
To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching-hour !



Oh! for a closer walk with God,

A calm and heavenly frame,
A light, to shine upon the road,

That leads me to the Lamb ;

Where is the blessedness I knew

When first I saw the Lord ? Where is the soul-refreshing view

Of Jesus and his word ?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed,

How sweet their memory still ; But they have left an aching void,

The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove, return,

Sweet messenger of rest;
I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,

And drove Thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,

And worship only Thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,

Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road

That leads me to the Lamb.


Vhen to their airy halls, my father's voice
Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice';
When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride,
Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ;
Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns
Co mark the spot where earth to earth returns ;
No lengthened scroll of virtue and renown;
My epitaph shall be my name alone :
If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh! may no other fame


repay ; That, only that, shall single out the spot, By that remembered, or with that forgot.



When in the hours of lonely woe,
I give my sorrows leave to flow;
And anxious fear, and dark distrust,
Weigh down my spirit to the dust.

When not even friendship’s gentle aid
Can heal the wounds the world has made,
O this shall check each rising sigh,
That Jesus is for ever nigh.

His counsels and upholding care,
My safety and my comfort are;
And he shall guide me all my days,
Till glory crown the work of grace.

Jesus ! in whom but thee alone
Can I repose my trust, my love ?
And shall an earthly object be
Loved in comparison with thee?

My flesh is hastening to decay,
Soon shall this world have passed away;
And what can mortal friends avail,
When heart, and strength, and life shall fail ?

But, oh! be thou, my Saviour, nigh,
And I will triumph while I die;
My strength, my portion, is divine,
And Jesus is for ever mine.


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