Then keep we on, with hope unchilled,
By faith and not by fight,

And we fhall own His word fulfilled, -
At eve it shall be light!

Bernard Barton.

RACIOUS Source of every bleffing!
Guard our breasts from anxious fears;

Let us each, thy care poffeffing,
Sink into the vale of years.

All our hopes on thee reclining,
Peace companion of our way,
May our sun, in smiles declining,
Rise in everlasting day.

DEATH.

EVENING LIGHT.

EHOLD the western evening light!

It melts in deepening gloom:

So calmly Chriftians fink away,
Descending to the tomb.

The winds breathe low; the withering leaf

Scarce whispers from the tree:

So gently flows the parting breath,
When good men cease to be.

How beautiful on all the hills
The crimson light is fhed!
'Tis like the peace the Chriftian gives
To mourners round his bed.

How mildly on the wandering cloud
The sunset beam is caft!

'Tis like the memory left behind,

When loved ones breathe their laft.

And now above the dews of night
The vesper-star appears:

So faith springs in the heart of those
Whose eyes are bathed in tears.

But soon the morning's happier light
Its glory fhall restore,

And eyelids that are sealed in death

Shall wake to close no more.

W. B. O. Peabody. 1840.

IN VIEW OF DEATH.

ΤΗ

HE hour, the hour, the parting hour,
That takes from this dark world its power,
And lays at once the thorn and flower
On the same withering bier, my soul!
The hour that ends all earthly woes,
And gives the wearied soul repose,—
How soft, how sweet, that last long close
Of mortal hope and fear, my soul!

How sweet, while on this broken lyre
The melodies of time expire,

To feel it ftrung with chords of fire

To praise the Immortal One, my soul!

And while our farewell tears we pour
To those we leave on this cold fhore,
To feel that we fhall weep no more,

Nor dwell in heaven alone, my soul!

How sweet, while, waning fast away,
The ftars of this dim world decay,
To hail, prophetic of the day,

The golden dawn above, my soul!
To feel we only fleep to rise
In sunnier lands and fairer skies,
To bind again our broken ties
In ever-living love, my soul!

The hour, the hour, so pure and calm,
That bathes the wounded soul in balm,
And round the pale brow twines the palm
That fhuns this wintry clime, my soul!
The hour that draws o'er earth and all
Its briers and blooms the mortal pall,
How soft, how sweet, that evening-fall

Of fears, and grief, and time, my soul!

TIME AND ETERNITY.

T is not time that flies;

IT

'Tis we, 't is we are flying:

It is not Life that dies;

'Tis we, 't is we are dying. Time and eternity are one; Time is eternity begun :

Life changes, yet without decay; 'Tis we alone who pass away.

It is not Truth that flies;
'Tis we, 't is we are flying:
It is not Faith that dies;

'Tis we, 't is we are dying. O ever-during faith and truth,

Whose youth is age, whose age is youth!
Twin stars of immortality,

Ye cannot perish from our sky.

It is not Hope that flies;

'Tis we, 't is we are flying:

It is not Love that dies;

'Tis we, 't is we are dying.

Twin ftreams, that have in heaven your birth,

Ye flide in gentle joy through earth.