Lost the fair tracery of youth, and wore

A deeper signet, in my manhood's prime— To lay me down with those who wake no more,

It calls me those I loved, their couch be mine: I hear sweet voices from my childhood's home, And from my father's grave-I come, I come!

:

Blest be the warning sound my mother's eyes Dwell on my memory yet, her parting tears, And from the grave where my young sister lies, Who perished in the glory of her years,

I hear a gentle call, "Return, return!"

So be it let me greet the village spires Once more. I come 'tis wilding youth may

spurn,

When far, the burial-places of his sires;

But oh, when strength is gone, and hope is past, There turns the wearied man his thoughts at last.

So do we change! I hear a warning tone— Yea, I, whose thoughts were all of bypast times, Of ancient glories, and from visions lone,

I come to list once more the sabbath chimes Of my own home-to feel the gentle air

Steal o'er my brow again-to greet the sun In the old places where he shone so fair,

The while each wandering brook in music ran, Answering to Youth's sweet thoughts, but all are fled

I come, my home, I come to join thy dead!

I heed the warning voice: oh, spurn me not,
My early friends; let the bruised heart go free:

Mine were high fancies, but a wayward lot
Hath made my youthful dreams in sadness flee ;
Then chide not, I would linger yet awhile,

Thinking o'er wasted hours, a weary train, Cheered by the moon's soft light, the sun's glad smile,

Watching the blue sky o'er my path of pain, Waiting my summons: whose shall be the eye To glance unkindly ?—I have come to die!

Sweet words to die! oh pleasant, pleasant sounds, What bright revealings to my heart they bring! What melody, unheard in earth's dull rounds,

And floating from the land of glorious Spring— The eternal home! My weary thoughts revive, Fresh flowers my mind puts forth, and buds of love,

Gentle and kindly thoughts for all that live,
Fanned by soft breezes from the world above:
And passing not, I hasten to my rest—
Again, oh, gentle summons, thou art blest!

LUCY HOOPER.

Abide with Prayer.

F what an easy quick access,

OF

My blessed Lord, art thou! how suddenly

May our requests thine ear invade!

To show that state dislikes not easiness,

If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made:

Thou canst no more not hear, than thou canst die.

Of what supreme almighty power

Is thy great arm, which spans the east and west,
And tacks the centre to the sphere!

By it do all things live their measur'd hour:
We cannot ask the thing which is not there,
Blaming the shallowness of our request.

Of what unmeasurable love

Art thou possess'd, who when thou couldst not die,

Wert fain to take our flesh and curse,
And for our sakes in person sin reprove!
That by destroying that which tied thy purse,
Thou mightst make way for liberality.

Since then these three wait on thy throne,
Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so,
That were I to leave all but one,

Wealth, fame, endowments, virtues, all should go:
I, and dear prayer, would together dwell,
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.

GEORGE HERBERT.

A Pledge for the Pure in Heart. WHERE art thou?-Thou! source and sup

port of all

That is or seen or felt; thyself unseen,
Unfelt, unknown-alas! unknowable.

I look abroad among thy works-the sky,
Vast, distant, glorious with its world of suns-

Life-giving earth, and ever-moving main,

And speaking winds—and ask if these are thee!
The stars that twinkle on, the eternal hills,
The restless tide's outgoing and return,
The omnipresent and deep-breathing air-
Though hailed as gods of old, and only less,
Are not the Power I seek; are thine, not thee!
I ask thee from the past: if, in the
years,
Since first intelligence could search its source,
Or in some former unremembered being,
(If such, perchance, were mine), did they behold
thee?

And next interrogate Futurity,

So fondly tenanted with better things

Than e'er experience owned—but both are mute :
And Past and Future, vocal on all else,
So full of memories and phantasies,

Are deaf and speechless here! Fatigued, I turn
From all vain parley with the elements,

And close mine eyes, and bid the thought turn inward

From each material thing its anxious guest,
If, in the stillness of the waiting soul,

He may vouchsafe himself-Spirit to spirit!
O Thou, at once most dreaded and desired,
Pavilioned still in darkness, wilt thou hide thee?
What though the rash request be fraught with
fate,

look on thine and live?

Nor human eye may
Welcome the penalty! let that come now,
Which soon or late must come. For light like
this

Who would not dare to die?

Peace! my proud aim,

And hush the wish that knows not what it asks.
Await His will, who hath appointed this,
With every other trial. Be that will
Done now, as ever. For thy curious search,
And unprepared solicitude to gaze

On Him-the Unrevealed-learn hence, instead,
To temper highest hope with humbleness.
Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts,
Till rent the veil, no longer separating
The Holiest of all-as erst, disclosing
A brighter dispensation; whose results
Ineffable, interminable, tend

Even to the perfecting thyself—thy kind—
Till meet for that sublime beatitude,

By the firm promise of a voice from heaven
Pledged to the pure in heart!

ELIZA TOWNSEND.

Abide with Me.

ABIDE with me! Fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day!
Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away:
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!