Thus spotless aye, heaven's purity;

Thus bland the balmy air.

The vex'd deep wakes, as starts in rage The lion from his dream of blood, Shakes the wild locks-white, not with age, That crest its madd'ning flood:

Along heaven's azure, heap on heap,
Clouds, sullenly together press'd,
Roll up, and ragged lightnings leap
Forth glitt'ring from their breast:

And the light breeze, that fans your cheek
Now, softly as an infant's breath,

In giant tones anon shall speak
Terror, dismay, and death.

Yet fear not ye, though billows lash

Themselves to fury; though the flood Beneath you yawn, or round you dash, Children, trust ye in God.

For what though death you haply meet,
In the wild wind or wilder wave,
The ocean-foam your winding-sheet,
The ocean-depths your grave;

Still may the soul triumphantly

Rise scathless from the wave, and even The very storm-winds' breath may be

Its chariot to Heaven.

But ah! my daughters, ye must dare
Another sea, whose caves no more
The wrecks of bright hopes, buried there
In myriads, restore.

Oh! fiercer tempests there shall rise,
And stormier waves be round you whirl'd,

'Tis there your real danger lies

Children, trust not the world.

Trust not the world-oh! rather fear

A stay so frail, so fugitive:

Know, life is only yours, that here

Ye may learn how to live.

Trust not the world-'t wi'll prove indeed As false to hope, as fair to view;

'T wi'll pierce you, as a broken reed, With many sorrows through.

All emptiness its bubbles are,
Emptiness gilded-oh! believe,

Their gaudy hues, that smile so fair,
Smile only to deceive:

As dreams that have in air their birth,

They're baseless all-and vanishing,
As the light shadow on the earth,
Left by the swallow's wing.

Trust ye in God-trust him on land-
Each enemy shall he repel;
And, in the hollow of his hand,
Shall ever guard you well.

On ocean, when the storm-wind free,
Howling along the wave, is heard,
There trust him too, for wind and sea
Alike obey his word.

Oh! trust him ever, every where;

Strong in his might, your fears dismiss;

He nerves your father's heart to bear

Even a grief like this.

And if, beneath the stunning blow,
A mother's firmness seem forgot,
'Tis but the mother's tears that flow,
The Christian wavers not.

"His will be done,"-thus, when the wave

Divides us, will her spirit lift

Its breath to Heaven, for he that gave,
Himself resumes the gift.

But now farewell, the ebbing sand,
That marks the last sad hour, is low,
The light boat waits upon the strand,
And ye indeed must go;

But not for aye, whate'er betide,

While here our prison'd spirits dwell, Earth hath not power thus to divide— My daughters, oh! farewell!

I

A CHAPTER IN HUMAN LIFE.

There's not a word thy lip hath breathed,

A look thine eye hath given,

That is not shrined within my heart,
Like to a dream of Heaven!

MRS. HEMANS.

THERE is something inexpressibly sweet and sacred in the remembrance of those we have loved and lost. Every spot where they have been, and every scene in which they have acted, are hallowed by some dear and blessed association. Memory, which is ever busy with her soothing, or her torturing power, loves to recall the sweetness, gentleness, and piety of their characters; while she ingeniously conceals the defects in which all partakers of our fallen nature must necessarily share; and Fancy, which clothes all things in brightness and beauty, represents them in superhuman loveliness, and wearing the purity of our Maker's smile, as it was impressed upon our