WRECKS OF LIFE.

I sat upon the shingly Beach One sunny Summer-day, A-listening to the mystic speech Of a million waves at play. And as I watched the flowing flood I saw a little child, Who near a mimic fabric stood Of shells his hands had piled. And as he turned to go away, He said, with look of sorrow: "Build up I cannot more to-day— "I'll come again to-morrow!"

The morrow came—he thither hied— Looked for his castle gay; But while he'd slept the cruel tide Had washt it all away. And thus in life we gaily build Shell castles in the air; Our hopes the fairy fabrics gild With colours bright and rare: But the dark flood of human strife Rolls onward while we sleep, And o'er the wrecks, where waves ran rife, We waken but to weep.