Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath,
And stars to set,—but all,

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?
Is it when roses in our path grow pale ?
They have one season,-all are ours to die!

Thou art where billows foam,

Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth,-and Thou art there!

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,
And stars to set,—but all,

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death.

"EYE HATH NOT SEEN, NOR EAR HEARD."

"I HEAR thee speak of the better land;
Thou callest its children a happy band:

Mother! oh! where is that radiant shore ?-
Shall we not seek it, and weep no more?—

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,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ?-
Or midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze;
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"

—“Not there—not there, my child!"

“Is it far away, in some region old,

Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold?—
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,

And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand-
Is it there, sweet mother,—that better land?"

"Not there—not there, my child !”

Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy;
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and death may not enter there ;
Time does not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,

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,
Serenely resting on its mother's arm,
Reposing every care upon her God,

Sleeps on His bosom, and expects no harm :

Receives with joy the promises He makes,

Nor questions of His purpose or His power;
She does not doubting ask, "Can this be so ?"

The Lord hath said it, and there needs no more.

However deep be the mysterious word,

However dark, she disbelieves it not;
Where Reason would examine, Faith obeys,
And 66
It is written," answers every doubt.

In vain, with rude and overwhelming force,
Conscience repeats her tale of misery;
And powers infernal, wakeful to destroy,

Urge the worn spirit to despair and die.

As evening's pale and solitary star

But brightens while the darkness gathers round; So Faith, unmoved amidst surrounding storms,

Is fairest seen in darkness most profound.