Now Nature sinks in soft repose, A living semblance of the grave; The boughs have almost ceased to wave ; Tree, mountain, stream, the humble sod, Horatius Bonar. 1808-1889. THE MASTER'S TOUCH. In the still air the music lies unheard, In the rough marble beauty hides unseen; To wake the music and the beauty, needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. Great Master, touch us with Thy skilful hand; Spare not the stroke! do with us as Thou wilt! HE LIVETH LONG WHO LIVETH WELL. He liveth long who liveth well! He liveth long who liveth well! Waste not thy being; back to Him Be wise, and use thy wisdom well; How first he lived, then spoke, the true. Be what thou seemest! live thy creed! Fill up each hour with what will last; Is the ripe fruit of life below. Sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap: Who sows the false shall reap the vain; Erect and sound thy conscience keep; From hollow words and deeds refrain. Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure; THE NEW SONG. Beyond the hills where suns go down, I see the land of far renown, The land which I so soon shall know. Above the dissonance of time, And discord of its angry words, I hear the everlasting chime, The music of unjarring chords. I bid it welcome; and my haste O song of light, and dawn, and bliss, Thy soul-entrancing melodies! Glad song of this disburdened earth, BE TRUE. Thou must be true thyself, If thou the truth wouldst teach; Think truly, and thy thoughts Julia Pardoe. 1808-1862. THE BEACON-LIGHT Darkness was deepening o'er the seas,— And still the hulk drove on; No sail to answer to the breeze,— Gloomy and drear her course of fear,— And gayly of the tale they told, When they were safe on shore ; How hearts had sunk, and hopes grown cold, Amid the billows' roar ; When not a star had shone from far, By its pale beam to save, Then, full in sight, the beacon-light Came streaming o'er the wave. Then wildly rose the gladdening shout Boldly they put the helm about, And through the surf they flew. Thus, in the night of Nature's gloom, Then from afar shines Bethlehem's star, And, full in sight, its beacon-light Comes streaming o'er the grave. |