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ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD.

59

“There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old fantastic root so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And

pore upon the brook that babbles by.

“Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or cross’d in hopeless love.

“One morn I miss'd him on the accustom’d hill,

Along the heath, and near his favorite tree;
Another came, nor yet beside the rill,
Nor

up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he:

“The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow throngh the churchway-path we saw him

borne. Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth,

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,

And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere;

Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery all he had-a tear;
He gain’d from Heaven—'twas all he wish'd

friend.

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No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope repose)

The bosom of his Father and his God.

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SOMETIME.

MRS. MAY RILEY SMITH.

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned,

And sun and stars forevermore have set, The things which our weak judgment here had spurised,

The things o'er which we grieved with lashes wete Will flash before us out of life's dark night,

As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue; And we shall see how all God's plans were right,

And how what seemed reproof was love most truo

And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh,
God's plans go on as best for you

and

ine; How, when we called, he heeded not our cry,

Because his wisdom to the end could see. And even as prudent parents disallow

Too much of sweet to craving babyhood, So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now

Life's sweetest things, because it seemeth good.

And if, sometimes, commingled with life's wine,

We find the wormwood and rebel and shrink, Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine

Pours out this portion for our lips to drink. And if some friend we love is lying low,

Where human kisses cannot reach his face,

Oh, do not blame the loving Father so.

But wear your sorrow with obedient grace.

And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath

Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend, And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death

Conceals the fairest boon his love can send. If we could push ajar the gates of life,

And stand within and all God's working see, We could interpret all this doubt and strife,

And for each mystery could find a key!

But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart!

God's plans, like lilies, pure and white, unfold; We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart,

Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.
And if, through patient toil, we reach the land

Where tired feet, with sandals loose, may rest, When we shall clearly know and understand

I think that we will say, “God knew the best!"

REST.

[The following lines were found under the pillow of a soldier lying dead in a hospital near Port Royal, South Carolina. We have never, we believe, seen verses more true and touching. They are a new and perfect expression of world-wide feeling:)

I lay me down to sleep, with little thought of care,
Whether waking find me here, or there.
A bowing, burdened head, that only asks to rest,
Unquestioning, upon a loving breast..
My good right hand forgets its cunning now;
To march the weary march I know not how.

I am not eager, bold, nor strong--all that is past,
I'm ready now to die, at last, at last.

My half day's work is done, and this is all my part:
I give a patient God my patient heart,
And

grasp his banner still, though all its blue be dim. These stripes, no less than stars, lead after Him.

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