STANZAS.

Vain our hopes with pleasure glowing, False the light ambition burns, Swift the tide of time is flowing, And the dial quickly turns. Mark the flowers how they wither, As the north winds pass them by, And the sparrow passing thither At the falcon's luring cry: So our movements straight are bearing Courses to the silent grave, All alike its terrors sharing, E'en the monarch and the slave. From its verge there's no retreating, Wayward, helpless masses throng; Nature's wheels are still repeating Revolutions swift and strong. Onward with the current rushing Atoms and their kindred blend; Worlds to dust in fragments crushing, As they proximate the end. Thus all things, in perfect keeping, Point direct to that dread day When the trump shall wake the sleeping, And this orb shall fade away: When the planets wildly rolling, As by Heaven's fierce lightnings hurled, Thunders deep, like curfew's tolling Requiems of the dying world: Then shall join, in quick succession, Stars, celestial bodies, all, Form the trembling, vast procession At their Maker's final call. S. S. HORNOR.