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Thou art where friend meets friend, Lift up your hearts!-though yet no Beneath the shadow of the elm to

rest,

Thou art where foe meets foe, and

trumpets rend

sorrow lies

Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;

The skies, and swords beat down the Though fresh within your breasts the

princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north

wind's breath,

And stars to set, but all,

untroubled springs

Of hope make melody where'er ye

tread;

And o'er your sleep bright shadows,

from the wings

Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread;

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Yet in those flute-like voices, ming

oh! Death.

EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.

HUSH! 'tis a holy hour,-the quiet

room

Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds

A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom

And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night,-in prayer.

Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek,

Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought, Gaze, yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,

And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky,

What death must fashion for eternity!

Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,

Lightly, when those pure orisons are done,

As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed,

'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set

of sun,

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Her lot is on you,- silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour,

And sumless riches, from affection's deep,

To pour on broken reeds,-a wasted shower! [clay, And to make idols, and to find them And to bewail that worship,-therefore pray!

Her lot is on you,- to be found untired,

Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired,

And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. [decay, Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer And oh! to love through all things,— therefore pray!

And take the thought of this calm vesper time,

With its low murmuring sounds

and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime,

As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight.

Earth will forsake,-oh! happy to have given

The unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven!

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They may weep out the stains by them did rise:

Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.

Who marks in church-time other symmetry,

Makes all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:

Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasure thither

Christ purged the temple; so must thou thy heart.

All worldly thoughts are but these met together

To cozen thee. Look to thy actions well:

For churches either are our heaven or hell.

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BOSOM SIN.

SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

LORD, with what care hast thou be- The bridal of the earth and sky;

girt us round!

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The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave

Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and

roses.

A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to
coal,
Then chiefly lives.

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