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And the sounds of joy and grief
Now joy, old England, raise !
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.
(THE RIVER OF LIFE.]
Our life's succeeding stages :
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Along its grassy borders.
But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Why seem your courses quicker?
And life itself is vapid,
Feel we its tide more rapid ?
It may be strange-yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding;
And left our bosoms bleeding ?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Proportioned to their sweetness.
A PSALM OF LIFE,
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream !-
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal;
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Funeral marches to the grave.
A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
The forms that once have been.
The Past and Present here unite
Beneath Time's flowing tide, Like footprints hidden by a brook,
But seen on either side.
Here runs the highway to the town;
There the green lane descends,
O gentlest of my friends!
The shadow of the linden-trees
Lay moving on the grass;
A shadow, thou didst pass.
Thy dress was like the lilies,
And thy heart as pure as they : One of God's holy messengers
Did walk with me that day.