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I hasten as my eye grows dim,
And darkens on this fading sphere,
I see the smiling seraphim

Wax more and more resplendent there;
And as my ear grows deaf and dull
To the vain sounds of earthly art,
The music, soft and beautiful,

Of heaven, absorbs my raptur'd heart.

XXV.

"Come up hither.”—Rev. iv. 1.

I HEAR the voices of the sons of light,
Blending and circling round from sphere to sphere;
Each star a chord of music-a wave's flow
In the majestic sea of song that rolls

In ceaseless tides of harmony, which know
No rest-no discord. There departed souls
Join the eternal chorus. Thence they speak
To us poor pilgrims wandering still on earth-
They bid us soar above earth's vale—and seek
The country, where our holier parts had birth,
And whither they are tending. Father! thither
My eager heart aspires-and when this scene
Fades round me, and its passing flow'rets wither,
There let me rest, rewarded and serene.

N

XXVI.

"Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright; for the end of that man is peace.'

BEHOLD the western evening light,

It melts in deepest gloom;
So calmly Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.

The winds breathe low; the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree;
So gently flows the parting breath,
When good men cease to be.

How beautiful on all the hills
The crimson light is shed;
'T is like the peace the Christian gives
To mourners round his bed.

How mildly on the wandering cloud
The sunset beam is cast;

"T is like the memory left behind,
When loved ones breathe their last.

And now, above the dews of night,
The yellow star appears;

So faith springs in the hearts of those
Whose eyes are bathed with tears.

And soon the morning's happier light

Its glories shall restore;

And eyelids, that are sealed in death,
Shall wake, to close no more.

XXVII.

[There is something exceedingly beautiful and touching in the circumstances of Mozart's death. After giving the last touch to his celebrated Requiem,' he fell into a gentle and quiet slumber. Being awoke by the footsteps of his daughter, he called her to him, and said, "My task is done the Requiem-my Requiem, is finished; take these, my last notes, and sing with them the hymn of your sainted mother. Let me once more hear those tones which have been so long my solace and delight." As she concluded the following stanzas, she dwelt for a moment on the low melancholy notes of the piece, and then, turning from the instrument, looked in silence for the approving smile of her father. It was the still, passionless smile which the wrapt and joyous

spirit had left-with the seal

those features.]

Spirit, thy labour is o'er!

of death upon

Thy term of probation is run,

Thy steps are now bound for the untrodden shore, And the race of immortals begun.

Spirit! look not on the strife

Or the pleasures of earth with regret, Pause not on the threshold of limitless life,

To mourn for the day that is set.

Spirit! no fetters can bind,

No wicked have power to molest ;

There the weary, like thee-the wretched, shall find

A haven, a mansion of rest.

Spirit! how bright is the road.

For which thou art now on the wing! Thy home it will be, with thy Saviour and God, Their loud hallelujah to sing.

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