As the carriage rolls down the dark street
The little wife laughs and makes cheer-
But ... I wonder what day of the week,
I wonder what month of the year.



To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer

She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart ;-
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around-
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,-
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with

the elements,
To be a brother to the

insensible rock, And to the sluggish

clod, which the rude

swain Turns with his share,

and treads upon.

The oak
Shall send his roots

abroad, and pierce
thy mould.


Yet not to thine

eternal resting- " THE SOLEMN BROOD OF CARE PLOD ON."

Shalt thou retire alone,-nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb’d and ancient as the sun ; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between ;
The venerable woods ; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour’d round


Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employ nts, and shali

And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,-
Shall one by one be gather'd to thy side,
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-

slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but,

sustain'd and soothed By an unfaltering trust, ap

proach thy grave Like one who wraps the dra

pery of his couch About him, and lies down to

pleasant dreams.





when our first parent

knew Thee from report di

vine, and heard thy

name, Did he not tremble

for this lovely

frame, This glorious canopy WHEN OUR FIRST PARENT KNEW THEE FROM

of light and blue?
Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew,

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,

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And lo! creation widened in man's vievi.
Who could have thought such darkness lay con-

Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find,

Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ! Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ?



THERE is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign ;
Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,

And never-withering flowers ;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heavenly land from ours.

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

Stand dressed in living green;
So to the Jews old Canaan stood

While Jordan rolled between.

But timorous mortals start and shrink

To cross this narrow sea,
And linger shivering on the brink,

And fear to launch away.

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