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But rest, more sweet and still

'Than ever night-fall gave Our longing hearts shall fill

In the world beyond the grave.

There shall no tempest blow,

No scorching noon-tide beat; There shall be no more snow,

No weary wandering feet.

And we list our trusting eyes,

From the hills our fathers trod,
To the quiet of the skies,
To the Sabbath of our God.

Come to the Sun-set Tree!

The day is past and gone ; The woodman's axe lies free,

And the reaper's work is done!

THE IVY OF KENILWORTH.

HEARD'ST thou what the Ivy sigh'd,
Waving where all else bath died, .
In the place of regal mirth,
Now the silent Kenilworth ?

With its many glistening leaves,
There a solemn robe it weaves ;
And a voice is in each fold,
Like an oracle's of old.
Heard'st thou, while with dews of night
Shone its berries darkly bright?
Yes! the whisperer seem'd to say,
- All things--all things, pass away!

" Where I am, the harp hath rung
Banners and proud shields among,
Andithe blood-red wine gowd free,
And the fire shot sparks of glee.,

s Where I am, now last and lone,
Queenly steps have come and gones
Gorgeous masques have glided_by,
Unto rolling harmony.

(Flung from these illumined towers,
Light hath pierced the forest bowers;
Lake, and pool, and fount, have been
Kindled by their midnight sheen.

"Where is now the feasting high?
Where the lordly minstrelsy?
Where the tourney's ringing spear?
-I am sole and silent here!

"In my home no hearth is crown's,
Through my halls no wine foams round,
By my gates hath ceased the lay-
All things all things pass away!"

Yes! thy warning voice I knew,
Ivy! and its tale is true :
All is passing, or hath pass'd
Thou thyself must perish last !

Yet my secret soul replied,

Surely one thing shall abide; 'Midst ibe wreck of ages, one, Heaven's eternal Word aloire !"

THE MOTHER AND CHILD.

WHERE art thou, boy ?-Heaven, Heaven! the babe is

playing, Ever on the margin of the dizzy steep! Haste-hush !-a breath, my agony betraying,

And he is gone!-beneath him rolls the deep! Could I but keep the bursting cry suppress’d, And win him back in silence to my breast !

Thou’rt safe ! - Thou com'st with smiles my fond arms

meeting,
Blest, fearless child !-1, I have tasted death!
Nearer that I may feel thy warm heart beating!

And see thy bright hair floating in my breath!
Nearer! to still my bosom's yearning pain,-
I clasp thee now, mine own! thou'rt here again!

'16*

ANGEL VISITS.

“No more of talk, where God or Angel guest
With man, as with his friend, familiar used
To sit indulgen!, and with him partake
Rural repast."

Milton,

ARE ye for ever to your skies departed ?
Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more?
Ye whose bright wings a solemn splendor darted
Through Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yare ?
Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye-our faded earth beholds you not:

Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wandered from bis Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,
Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the Patriarchs, under vine or oak,
Midst noontide calm or hush of evening spoke.

From'yon, the veil of midnight darkness rending,
Came the rich mysteries to the sleeper's eye,
That saw your hosts ascending and descending,
On those bright steps between the earth and sky;
Trembling he woke, and bow'd o'er glory's trace,
And worshipp'd, awe-struck, in that fearful place.

By Chebar's Brook ye pass’d, such radiance wearing,
As mortal vision might but ill endure;
Along the stream the living chariot bearing,
With its high crystal arch, intently pure !*
And the dread rushing of your wings that hour,
Was like the noise of waters in their power.

But in the Olive-Mount, by night appearing,
'Midst the dim leaves, your holiest work was done!
Whose was the voice that came, divinely cheering,
Fraught with the breath of God to aid his Son?
Haply of those that on the moonlit plains,
Walted good tidings unto Syrian swains.

Yet one more task was yours !-your heavenly dwelling
Ye left, and by th' unseal'd sepulchral stone
In glorious raiment sat, the weepers telling
That He they sought, had triumph'd, and was gone!-
Now have ye left us for the brighter shore,
Your presence lights the lonely groves no more!

But may ye not, unseen, around us hover,
With gentle proraptings and sweet influence yet ?
Though the fresh glory of those days be over,
When, 'midst the palm-irees, man your footsteps met ?
Are ye not near when Faith and Hope rise bigli,
When love by strength o'ermasters agony ?

Are ye pot near, when sorrow unrepining,
Yields up lile's treasures unto Him who gave ?
When martyrs, all things for bis sake resigning,
Lead on the march of death, serenely brave?
Dreams!—but a deeper thought our souls may fill,
One, one is near-a Spirit, holier still!

*Ezekiel, chap. i.

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