The Unknown Grave.

Say, was he one to science blind,

A groper in Earth's dungeon dark?
Or one who with aspiring mind

Did, in the fair creation, mark
The Maker's hand, and kept his soul
Free from this grovelling world's control?

Hush! wild surmise!-'t is vain 't is vain
The summer flowers in beauty blow,
And sighs the wind, and floods the rain,
O'er some old bones that rot below;

No other record can we trace

Of fame or fortune, rank or race!

Then, what is life, when thus we see
No trace remains of life's career?—
Mortal! whoeʼer thou art, for thee

A moral lesson gloweth here;
Putt'st thou in aught of earth thy trust?

'Tis doom'd that dust shall mix with dust.

What doth it matter, then, if thus,

Without a stone, without a name,

To impotently herald us,

We float not on the breath of fame; But, like the dewdrop from the flower, Pass, after glittering for an hour?

The soul decays not, freed from earth,
And earthly coils, it bursts away;-

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Receiving a celestial birth,

And spurning off its bonds of clay, It soars, and seeks another sphere,

And blooms through Heaven's eternal year!

Do good; shun evil; live not thou,

As if at death thy being died; Nor Error's siren voice allow

To draw thy steps from truth aside; Look to thy journey's end-the grave! And trust in Him whose arm can save.

HYMN.

Father in Heaven! who gave me breath,
And made this world for such as me,

Remind me, I must give, at death,
Account of all my deeds to Thee!

If from the track of duty e'er

My thoughts would roam, my feet would slide,

Still

may I feel that Thou art near,

And pray Thee, Lord, to be my guide.

Yes! from Thine eye's unsleeping lid,

And from Thy presence none can flee ;

The secret places are not hid,

And darkness is as light to Thee!

Hymn.

So when I wake to morning light,
My prayers to Thee shall still ascend;
And I will ask Thee, every night,

To bless my slumbers, and defend !

Professor Wilson.

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MARY.

THREE days before my Mary's death, We walked by Grassmere shore; "Sweet Lake!" she said with faltering breath, "I ne'er shall see thee more!"

Then turning round her languid head,
She looked me in the face,

And whispered, "When thy friend is dead,
Remember this lone place."

Vainly I struggled at a smile,

That did my fears betray;

It seemed that on our darling isle

Foreboding darkness lay.

My Mary's words were words of truth;

None now behold the Maid; Amid the tears of age and youth, She in her grave was laid.

Long days, long nights, I ween, were past

Ere ceased her funeral knell ;

But to the spot I went at last

Where she had breathed "farewell!"

Methought, I saw the phantom stand
Beside the peaceful wave;

I felt the pressure of her hand—
Then looked towards her grave.

Fair, fair beneath the evening sky
The quiet churchyard lay:
The tall pine-grove most solemnly
Hung mute above her clay.

Dearly she loved their arching spread,
Their music wild and sweet,
And, as she wished on her deathbed,
Was buried at their feet.

Around her grave a beauteous fence

Of wild-flowers shed their breath,

Smiling like infant innocence

Within the gloom of death.

Mary.

Such flowers from bank of mountain brook

At eve we used to bring, When every little mossy nook Betrayed returning Spring.

Oft had I fixed the simple wreath
Upon her virgin breast;

But now such flowers as formed it, breathe
Around her bed of rest.

Yet all within my silent soul,

As the hushed air was calm; The natural tears that slowly stole, Assuaged my grief like balm.

The air that seemed so thick and dull

For months unto my eye;
Ah me! how bright and beautiful

It floated on the sky!

A trance of high and solemn bliss
From purest ether came;

'Mid such a heavenly scene as this,
Death is an empty name!

The memory of the past

returned

Like music to my heart,—

It seemed that causelessly I mourned,

When we were told to part.

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