Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. We know when moons shall wane; When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain,But who shall teach us when to look for Thee! Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest; Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. "EYE HATH NOT SEEN, NOR EAR HEARD." "I HEAR thee speak of the better land; Mother! oh! where is that radiant shore ?- Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs ?" -"Not there-not there, my child!" "Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, —“Not there—not there, my child!" “Is it far away, in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?— And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand- "Not there—not there, my child !” Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! It is there-it is there, my child!" "THOUGH HE SHOULD SLAY ME, YET WILL I TRUST IN HIM." FAITH, like a simple, unsuspecting child, Sleeps on His bosom, and expects no harm : Receives with joy the promises He makes, Nor questions of His purpose or His power; The Lord hath said it, and there needs no more. However deep be the mysterious word, However dark, she disbelieves it not; In vain, with rude and overwhelming force, Urge the worn spirit to despair and die. |