And childhood's vernal season past;
And shunned youth's thousand snares,
When manhood's autumn comes at last,
With sorrows, fears, and cares,
Still, autumn-like, its skies are bright,
And still, the world seems young,
And still, we love its mellow light,
Its bowers, with fruitage hung.

But autumn's golden skies must fade,
And autumn's fruits decay,

And soon, 'mid snows and storms, must come

Old age's wintry day.

A wintry day at best, as short,

As gloomy, and as cold,

Till the worn body yields at last,

And life lets go its hold.

And when its earthly hold is gone,
The world's brief fashion past,
Are there no hopes, that shall survive,
No pleasures, that shall last?
Yes, Christian, it is thine to know,
Life's but a weary way,

A short, though painful, pilgrimage,
To realms of endless day;

Where Faith, her crown of life, shall wear,

And Hope, be lost in joy,

And meek-eyed love, be paid with bliss,

That time can ne'er destroy:
For thither, has the Lamb gone up,

Who suffered, and was slain,

That, risen with Him, His followers might
With Him, for ever, reign.

THE WATER OF LIFE.

"Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely."

Ho! all that thirst, draw nigh,
And drink of that pure fount,
Which issues forth eternally,
From Zion's holy mount.

Haste to that blessed fold,

Which Jesus first ordained,

And which, His hand and holy arm,
Have ever since maintained.

There, shall the sacred Fount,
Wash all your sins away,
And fit you, so your faith be firm,
For realms of endless day.

There, is that Word dispensed,
By which alone, we live,
Which only can our hopes confirm,
And joys eternal, give.

There is that Feast prepared,

For those in Christ who live;

Rich banquet! where the contrite heart True comfort shall receive.

Come, then, the Spirit cries,

And she, the heavenly Bride,

Come, ail that are athirst, nor fear

That one shall be denied.

Come, whosoever will,

Nor price, nor money bring;

Come to that fount, whose streams of life

Through endless ages, spring.

LIFE'S LITTLE LINES.

"Noting, ere they fade away,

The little lines of yesterday."

LIFE'S "little lines; " how short, how faint,
How fast they fade away;
Its highest hopes, its brightest joys,
Are compassed, in a day.

Youth's bright, and mild, and morning light,

Its sunshine, and its showers,

Its hopes and fears, its loves and tears,

Its heedless, happy hours;

And manhood's high and brightened noon,

Its honours, dangers, cares,

The parents' pains, the parents' joys,

The parents' anxious prayers;

Fade in old age's evening gray,

The twilight of the mind;

Then sink, in death's long, dreamless night,

And leave no trace, behind.

Yet, though so changing, and so brief,

Our life's eventful page,

It has its charms, for every grief,

Its joys, for every age.

In youth's, in manhood's, golden hours,
Loves, friendships, strew the way
With April's earliest, sweetest flowers,
And all the bloom of May;
And when old age, with wintry hand,
Has frosted o'er, the head,
Virtue's fair fruits, survive the blast,
When all beside, are fled;

And faith, with pure, unwavering eye,

Can pierce the gathered gloom;
And smile upon the spoiler's rage,
And live, beyond the tomb.

Be ours, then, virtue's deathless charm,
And faith's untiring flight;

Then shall we rise, from death's dark sleep,
To worlds of cloudless light.

TO A VERY DEAR FRIEND.*

-Friendship, I owe thee much."

DARK to the soul, and desolate,
Life's sunniest hours would be,
And cheerless, fortune's best estate,
Fair Friendship! but for thee.
And oh when tempests wrap the skies,
How comfortless, their gloom,
Did not thy radiant visions rise,
Our darkness to illume!

Friend of my heart! in hours of joy,
I've listened to thy voice;

And felt, in each inspiring tone,

New motive, to rejoice;

And oft, with anxious cares oppressed,
And griefs, thou didst not know,
Thy kindness has relieved my breast,
And lightened every woe.

Oh! I have loved, with thee to rove,
In Spring's reviving hour,
Ere verdure yet, had clad the grove,
Or fragrance filled the flower;

*The venerable Rector of Trinity Church, New York.

POEMS.

And joyed, when Summer found us laid,
Beneath some aged oak,

Where, save the streamlet's bubbling tale,
No sound, the stillness broke.

With thee, when Autumn's mellowing hand
Has tinged the woods with gold,
How dear, to mark each varied tint

Successively unfold!

And e'en in Winter's sullen hour,

To roam, delighted, on,

And feel, that not in Summer bower,

Is nature wooed, alone.

Those happy hours, those happy hours,
Have flitted on the wind;.
But many a dear remembrance lives,

Deep in my heart, entwined;

And oft, the chords with which they're bound,
Shall fancy wake again;
And memory love to linger long,

Delighted, on that strain.

THERMOPYLE.

Σᾶς περὶ, παρθένε, μορφας

Καὶ θανεῖν ζαλωτὸς ἐν Ἑλλάδι πότμος.

'Twas an hour of fearful issues,
When the bold three hundred stood,
For their love of holy freedom,
By that old Thessalian flood;
When, lifting high each sword of flame,
They called on every sacred name,
And swore, beside those dashing waves,
They never, never, would be slaves!

And Oh! that oath was nobly kept:
From morn, to setting sun,
Did desperation urge the fight,
Which valour had begun;