For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,-

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say :

Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn :

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech,

That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn,

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

"One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree; Another came, -nor yet beside the rill,

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

"The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him

borne ;

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.”

THE EPITAPH.

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair science frowned not on his humble birth,
And melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ;
Heaven did a recompense as largely send :
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear;

He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend.

No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode ; (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

Oliver Goldsmith.

1728-1774.

FROM "THE DESERTED VILLAGE" (LISSOY).

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,

And still where many a garden flower grows

wild,

There, where a few torn shrubs the place dis

close,

The village preacher's modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place;

Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
For other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their
pain ;

The long-remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claimed kindred there, and had his claims al-
lowed;

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields

were won.

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,

And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side-
But in his duty, prompt at every call,

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for

all;

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to
raise,

And his last, faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
Even children followed, with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's
smile.

His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed;

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the

storm,

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

William Cowper.

1731-1800.

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform ;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds ye so much dread,
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace ;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.