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When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow ;.
While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky;
I change, but I cannot die.
The pavilion of heaven is hare,
the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
SUPPOSED TO BE SPOKEN BY A DYING SON.
Weep not for me, mother! because I must die,
And sink in death's coldness to rest;
Weep not for
mother ! becausc death is nigh, I go to the home of the blest !
It is but a momenta pang-and
A struggle--and that to be free; 'Tis the spirit's last look on a journey that's o'er ;
Oh death has no terror for me.
Weep not for me, mother ! the Christian should fling
His frailties and fears to the wind;
Can he leave them for ever behind.
Farewell to thee now-the mist thickens fast;
The cold hand is laid on my breast;
EXTRACT FROM THE MINSTREL.
Yet such the destiny of all on earth ;
O smile, ye heavens, serene ; ye mildews wan,
THE VANITY OF LIFE IMPROVED.
I've seen the lovely garden flowers
In all their beauty glow;
Lay all their glory low.
I've seen the youth in beauty's pride,
And highest health to-day, Before to-morrow's evening tide
A breathless lump of clay.
Then what's our life ? a vapour sure ;
Away it swiftly flies ;
How trifling such a prize!
The hastening day will soon arrive,
When awful death shall come, And close the scene of this vain life
In darkness and the tomb.
O! may the Living Word, the Light,
Shine forth before our eyes ;
With everlasting rays.
And in the dark and dismal road,
Which we are doomed to tread, Our comfort be the word of God,
Our rock, our strength, our shade.
His word, who died
upon Can fortify the heart, And, even in death, our minds can free,
And bid all fear depart.
The work He finished on the cross,
Salvation must insure;
For ever will endure.