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Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look

Through fringed lids to heaven, And the pale aster in the brook

Shall see its image given;

The woods shall wear their robes of praise,

The south wind softly sigh,
And sweet calm days in golden haze

Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word

Rebuke an age of wrong: The graven flowers that wreathe the sword

Make not the blade less strong.

Enough that blessings undeserv'd

Have mark'd my erring track,
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerv'd,

His chastening turn'd me back.

That more and more a Providence

Of love is understood,
Making the springs of time and sense

Sweet with eternal good.

That death seems but a covePd way,

Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray

Beyond the Father's sight.

That care and trial seem at last,

Through memory's sunset air, Like mountain ranges overpast

In purple distance fair.

That all the jarring notes of life
Seem blending in a psalm,

And all the angles of its strife
Slow rounding into calm.

And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play;

And all the windows of my heart
I open to this day.

J. G. Whittier

CXIX

YOUTH AND AGE

The seas are quiet when the winds are o'er,
So calm are we when passions are no more!
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.

Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries;
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and deca/d,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become
As they draw near to their eternal home;
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.

Waller

cxx
MY BIRD
Ere last year's moon had left the sky,
A birdling sought my Indian nest,
And folded, O! so lovingly,
Its tiny wings upon my breast.

From morn till evening's purple tinge,
In winsome helplessness she lies;

Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe,
Shut softly on her starry eyes.

There's not in Ind a lovelier bird;

Broad earth owns not a happier nest: O God, Thou hast a fountain stirred,

Whose waters nevermore shall rest!

This beautiful, mysterious thing,
This seeming visitant from Heaven,

This bird with the immortal wing,
To me—to me, Thy hand has given.

The pulse first caught its tiny stroke,
The blood its crimson hue, from mine:

This life, which I have dared invoke,
Is parallel henceforth with mine.

A silent awe is in my room—

I tremble with delicious fear;
The future, with its light, and gloom,

Time, and eternity are here.

Doubts, hopes, in eager tumult rise:
Hear, O my God! one earnest prayer;

Room for my bird in Paradise,
And give her angel plumage there!

E. Judson

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CXXI
HE A VEN

This world is all a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given:
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow;

There's nothing true but Heaven!

And false the light on glory's plume,

As fading hues of even;
And love, and hope, and beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gathered from the tomb;

There's nothing bright but Heaven!

Poor wanderers of a stormy day,

From wave to wave we're driven;
And fancy's flash, and reason's ray,
Serve but to light the troubled way;
There's nothing calm but Heaven!

T. Moore

CXXII

DIFFERENT MINDS

Some murmur when their sky is clear

And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue:
And some with thankful love are fill'd

If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,

In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task,

And all good things denied: And hearts in poorest huts admire

How Love has in their aid (Love that not ever seems to tire)

Such rich provision made.

Archbishop Trench

CXXIII

THE RULE OF GOD

I say to thee—Do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet
In lane, highway, or open street,

That he and we and all men move

Under a canopy of love,

As broad as the blue sky above;

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,
And anguish, all are shadows vain,
That death itself shall not remain;

That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Through dark ways underground be led;

Yet, if we will one Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way,
Shall issue out in heavenly day;

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