Now it seems to ftop befide us, now at seeming distance

lowers,

Leaving banks that tempt us onward bright with summer green and flowers.

Yet it blots the way forever; there our journey ends at

laft;

Into that dark cloud we enter, and are gathered to the

past.

Thou who in this flinty pathway, leading through a ftranger land,

Paffeft down the rocky valley, walking with me hand in

hand,

Which of us fhall be the sooneft folded to that dim Unknown,

Which fhall leave the other walking in this flinty path

alone?

Even now I see thee shudder, and thy cheek is white

with fear,

And thou clingeft to my fide as that dark mist comes sweeping near.

"Here," thou sayft, "the path is rugged, sown with thorns that wound the feet;

But the sheltered glens are lovely, and the rivulet's song is sweet;

Roses breathe from tangled thickets; lilies bend from ledges brown;

Pleasantly between the pelting showers the sunshine gushes down.

Far be yet the hour that takes me where that chilly fhadow lies,

From the things I know and love, and from the fight of loving eyes."

So thou murmureft, fearful one, but see, we tread a rougher way;

Fainter grow the gleams of sunshine that upon the dark rocks play;

Rude winds ftrew the faded flowers upon the crags o'er which we pass;

Banks of verdure, when we reach them, hiss with tufts of withered grass.

Yet upon the mist before us fix thine eyes with closer

view ;

See, beneath its sullen fkirts, the rosy morning glimmers

through.

One, whose feet the thorns have wounded, entered and came back,

With a glory on his footsteps lighting yet the dreary

track.

Boldly enter where he entered; all that seems but darkness here,

When thou once haft paft beyond it, haply fhall be crystal clear.

Seen from that serener realm, the walks of human life

may lie

Like the page of some familiar volume

eye.

open to mine

Haply from the o'erhanging fhadow thou mayst stretch

an unseen hand,

To support the wavering fteps that print with blood the rugged land.

Haply, leaning o'er the pilgrim all unweeting thou art

near,

Thou mayft whisper words of warning or of comfort in

his ear,

Till, beyond the border where that brooding mystery bars the fight,

Those whom thou haft fondly cherished stand with thee in peace and light.

Wm. C. Bryant. 1860.

SPIRIT, freed from earth,
Rejoice thy work is done!

The weary world's beneath thy feet,
Thou brighter than the sun.

Arise, put on the robes

That the redeeméd win;

Now sorrow hath no part in thee,

Awake, and breathe the air

Of the celeftial clime!

Awake to love which knows no change,
Thou who haft done with time!

Awake, lift up thine eyes!
See, all heaven's hoft appears!
And be thou glad exceedingly,-
Thou who haft done with tears.

Ascend! thou art not now
With those of mortal birth;

The living God hath touched thy lips,
Thou who haft done with earth!

Mrs. Howitt. 1860.

HEAVEN.

THE NEW SONG.

EYOND the hills where suns go down,

BEYOND

And brightly beckon as they go,

I see the land of far renown,

The land which I so soon fhall know.

Above the diffonance of time,

And discord of its angry words,

I hear the everlasting chime,
The mufic of unjarring chords.

I bid it welcome; and my hafte
To join it cannot brook delay; -
O song of morning, come at laft,

And ye who fing it, come away!

O song of light and dawn and bliss,
Sound over earth, and fill these skies,
Nor ever, ever, ever cease

Thy soul-entrancing melodies!