Part 1 / Book 5 / Act 5 — FROM "CATO," ACT V. SC. I.
Reading edition
SCENE.—CATO, sitting in a thoughtful posture, with book on the Immortality of the Soul in his hand, and a drawn sword on the table by him.
It must be so—Plato, thou reasonest well!— Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. This longing after immortality? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out a hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. Eternity!—thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; And that which he delights in must be happy. But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar. I'm weary of conjectures,—this must end 'em.
(Laying his hand on his sword.)
Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me: This in a moment brings me to an end; But this informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt amid the war of elements, The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds!
JOSEPH ADDISON.
* * * * *
EDWIN AND PAULINUS:
THE CONVERSION OF NORTHUMBRIA.
The black-haired gaunt Paulinus By ruddy Edwin stood:— "Bow down, O king of Deira, Before the blessed Rood! Cast out thy heathen idols. And worship Christ our Lord." —But Edwin looked and pondered, And answered not a word.
Again the gaunt Paulinus To ruddy Edwin spake: "God offers life immortal For his dear Son's own sake! Wilt thou not hear his message, Who bears the keys and sword?" —But Edwin looked and pondered, And answered not a word.
Rose then a sage old warrior Was fivescore winters old; Whose beard from chin to girdle Like one long snow-wreath rolled: "At Yule-time in our chamber We sit in warmth and light, While cold and howling round us Lies the black land of Night.
"Athwart the room a sparrow Darts from the open door: Within the happy hearth-light One red flash,—and no more! We see it come from darkness, And into darkness go:— So is our life. King Edwin! Alas, that it is so!
"But if this pale Paulinus Have somewhat more to tell; Some news of Whence and Whither, And where the soul will dwell;— If on that outer darkness The sun of hope may shine;— He makes life worth the living! I take his God for mine!"
So spake the wise old warrior; And all about him cried, "Paulinus' God hath conquered! And he shall be our guide:— For he makes life worth living Who brings this message plain, When our brief days are over, That we shall live again."
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY.
Could we but know The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, Where lie those happier hills and meadows low; Ah! if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil Aught of that country could we surely know, Who would not go?
Might we but hear The hovering angels' high imagined chorus, Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear One radiant vista of the realm before us,— With one rapt moment given to see and hear, Ah, who would fear?
Were we quite sure To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,— This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, Who would endure?
EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
* * * * *
SONG OF THE SILENT LAND.
"Das stille Land."
Into the Silent Land! Ah, who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, oh, thither, Into the Silent Land?
Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The future's pledge and band! Who in life's battle firm doth stand Shall bear hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land!
O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed, Into the Silent Land!
JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS.
Translation of H.W. LONGFELLOW.
* * * * *
THE OTHER WORLD.
It lies around us like a cloud,— A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be.
Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Amid our worldly cares Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers.
Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard.
The silence—awful, sweet, and calm— They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake.
So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, So near to press they seem,— They seem to lull us to our rest, And melt into our dream.
And in the bush of rest they bring 'Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be.
To close the eye, and close the ear, Rapt in a trance of bliss, And gently dream in loving arms To swoon to that—from this.
Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care.
Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helpings glide.
Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality. Our suffering life the dream.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be.
I never spake with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given.
EMILY DICKINSON.
* * * * *
THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN.
High thoughts! They come and go, Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden, While round me flow The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden: When the corn's rustle on the ear doth come— When the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy hum— When the stars, dew-drops of the summer sky, Watch over all with soft and loving eye— While the leaves quiver By the lone river, And the quiet heart From depths doth call And garners all— Earth grows a shadow Forgotten whole, And heaven lives In the blessed soul!
High thoughts They are with me When, deep within the bosom of the forest, Thy mourning melody Abroad into the sky, thou, throstle! pourest. When the young sunbeams glance among the trees— When on the ear comes the soft song of bees— When every branch has its own favorite bird And songs of summer from each thicket heard!— Where the owl flitteth, Where the roe sitteth, And holiness Seems sleeping there; While nature's prayer Goes up to heaven In purity, Till all is glory And joy to me!
High thoughts! They are my own When I am resting on a mountain's bosom, And see below me strown The huts and homes where humble virtues blossom; When I can trace each streamlet through the meadow, When I can follow every fitful shadow— When I can watch the winds among the corn, And see the waves along the forest borne; Where blue-bell and heather Are blooming together, And far doth come The Sabbath bell, O'er wood and fell; I hear the beating Of nature's heart: Heaven is before me— God! thou art.
High thoughts! They visit us In moments when the soul is dim and darkened; They come to bless, After the vanities to which we hearkened: When weariness hath come upon the spirit— (Those hours of darkness which we all inherit)— Bursts there not through a glint of warm sunshine, A wingèd thought which bids us not repine? In joy and gladness, In mirth and sadness, Come signs and tokens; Life's angel brings, Upon its wings, Those bright communings The soul doth keep— Those thoughts of heaven So pure and deep!
ROBERT NICOLL.
* * * * *
NEARER HOME.
One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er; I am nearer home to-day That I ever have been before;
Nearer my Father's house, Where the many mansions be; Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the crystal sea;
Nearer the bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down; Nearer leaving the cross, Nearer gaining the crown!
But lying darkly between, Winding down through the night, Is the silent, unknown stream. That leads at last to the light.
Closer and closer my steps Come to the dread abysm: Closer Death to my lips Presses the awful chrism.
Oh, if my mortal feet Have almost gained the brink; If it be I am nearer home Even to-day than I think;
Father, perfect my trust; Let my spirit feel in death, That her feet are firmly set On the rock of a living faith!
PHOEBE CARY.
* * * * *
MEETING ABOVE.
If yon bright stars which gem the night Be each a blissful dwelling-sphere Where kindred spirits reunite Whom death hath torn asunder here,— How sweet it were at once to die, To leave this blighted orb afar! Mixt soul and soul to cleave the sky, And soar away from star to star.
But oh, how dark, how drear, how lone, Would seem the brightest world of bliss, If, wandering through each radiant one, We failed to meet the loved of this! If there no more the ties shall twine Which death's cold hand alone could sever, Ah, would those stars in mockery shine, More joyless, as they shine forever!
It cannot be,—each hope, each fear That lights the eye or clouds the brow, Proclaims there is a happier sphere Than this bleak world that holds us now. There, Lord, thy wayworn saints shall find The bliss for which they longed before; And holiest sympathies shall bind Thine own to thee forevermore.
O Jesus, bring us to that rest, Where all the ransomed shall be found, In thine eternal fulness blest, While ages roll their cycles round.
WILLIAM LEGGETT.
* * * * *
MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD.
My days among the dead are passed; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old; My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedewed With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the dead; with them I live in long-past years; Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the dead; anon My place with them will be. And I with them shall travel on Through all futurity: Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
* * * * *
THE FUTURE LIFE.
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead, When all of thee that time could wither sleeps And perishes among the dust we tread?
For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given; My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, And wilt thou never utter it in heaven?
In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, And larger movements of the unfettered mind, Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here?
The love that lived through all the stormy past, And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last. Shall it expire with life, and be no more?
A happier lot than mine, and larger light, Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right, And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.
For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; And wrath has left its scar—that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same belovèd name, The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same?
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, The wisdom that I learned so ill in this— The wisdom which is love—till I become Thy fit companion in that land of bliss?
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
That clime is not like this dull clime of ours; All, all is brightness there; A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers, And a benigner air. No calm below is like that calm above, No region here is like that realm of love; Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light, Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright.
That sky is not like this sad sky of ours, Tinged with earth's change and care; No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers; No broken sunshine there: One everlasting stretch of azure pours Its stainless splendor o'er those sinless shores; For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray, And Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day.
The dwellers there are not like those of earth,— No mortal stain they bear,— And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth; Whence and how came they there? Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame, Through tribulation, they to glory came; Bond-slaves delivered from sin's crushing load, Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God.
Yon robes of theirs are not like those below; No angel's half so bright; Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow, And whence that radiant white? Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb, Fair as the light these robes of theirs became; And now, all tears wiped off from every eye, They wander where the freshest pastures lie, Through all the nightless day of that unfading sky!
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
THE TWO WORLDS.
Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain, Whose magic joys we shall not see again; Bright haze of morning veils its glimmering shore. Ah, truly breathed we there Intoxicating air— Glad were our hearts in that sweet realm of Nevermore.
The lover there drank her delicious breath Whose love has yielded since to change or death; The mother kissed her child, whose days are o'er. Alas! too soon have fled The irreclaimable dead: We see them—visions strange—amid the Nevermore.
The merrysome maiden used to sing— The brown, brown hair that once was wont to cling To temples long clay-cold: to the very core They strike our weary hearts, As some vexed memory starts From that long faded land—the realm of Nevermore.
It is perpetual summer there. But here Sadly may we remember rivers clear, And harebells quivering on the meadow-floor. For brighter bells and bluer, For tenderer hearts and truer People that happy land—the realm of Nevermore.
Upon the frontier of this shadowy land We pilgrims of eternal sorrow stand: What realm lies forward, with its happier store Of forests green and deep, Of valleys hushed in sleep, And lakes most peaceful? 'Tis the land of Evermore.
Very far off its marble cities seem— Very far off—beyond our sensual dream— Its woods, unruffled by the wild wind's roar; Yet does the turbulent surge Howl on its very verge. One moment—and we breathe within the Evermore.
They whom we loved and lost so long ago Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe— Haunt those fresh woodlands, whence sweet carollings soar. Eternal peace have they; God wipes their tears away: They drink that river of life which flows from Evermore.
Thither we hasten through these regions dim, But, lo, the wide wings of the Seraphim Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore Our lightened hearts shall know The life of long ago: The sorrow-burdened past shall fade for Evermore.
MORTIMER COLLINS.
* * * * *
THE ANSWER.
"Who would not go" With buoyant steps, to gain that blessed portal, Which opens to the land we long to know? Where shall be satisfied the soul's immortal, Where we shall drop the wearying and the woe In resting so?
"Ah, who would fear?" Since, sometimes through the distant pearly portal, Unclosing to some happy soul a-near, We catch a gleam of glorious light immortal, And strains of heavenly music faintly hear, Breathing good cheer!
"Who would endure" To walk in doubt and darkness with misgiving, When he whose tender promises are sure— The Crucified, the Lord, the Ever-living— Keeps us those "mansions" evermore secure By waters pure?
Oh, wondrous land! Fairer than all our spirit's fairest dreaming: "Eye hath not seen," no heart can understand The things prepared, the cloudless radiance streaming. How longingly we wait our Lord's command— His opening hand!
O dear ones there! Whose voices, hushed, have left our pathway lonely, We come, erelong, your blessèd home to share; We take the guiding hand, we trust it only— Seeing, by faith, beyond this clouded air, That land so fair!
ANONYMOUS.
* * * * *
FOREVER WITH THE LORD.
Forever with the Lord! Amen! so let it be! Life from the dead is in that word, And immortality.
Here in the body pent, Absent from him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.
My Father's house on high, Home of my soul! how near, At times, to faith's foreseeing eye Thy golden gates appear!
Ah! then my spirit faints To reach the land I love, The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem above!
Yet clouds will intervene, And all my prospect flies; Like Noah's dove, I flit between Rough seas and stormy skies.
Anon the clouds depart, The winds and waters cease; While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart Expands the bow of peace!
Beneath its glowing arch, Along the hallowed ground, I see cherubic armies march, A camp of fire around.
I hear at morn and even, At noon and midnight hour, The choral harmonies of heaven Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower.
Then, then I feel that he, Remembered or forgot, The Lord, is never far from me, Though I perceive him not.
In darkness as in light, Hidden alike from view, I sleep, I wake, as in his sight Who looks all nature through.
All that I am, have been, All that I yet may be, He sees at once, as he hath seen, And shall forever see.
"Forever with the Lord;" Father, if 'tis thy will, The promise of that faithful word Unto thy child fulfil!
So, when my latest breath Shall rend the veil in twain, By death I shall escape from death, And life eternal gain.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
* * * * *
TO HEAVEN APPROACHED A SUFI SAINT.
To heaven approached a Sufi Saint, From groping in the darkness late, And, tapping timidly and faint, Besought admission at God's gate.
Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?" "'Tis I, dear Friend," the Saint replied, And trembling much with hope and fear. "If it be thou, without abide."
Sadly to earth the poor Saint turned, To bear the scourging of life's rods; But aye his heart within him yearned To mix and lose its love in God's.
He roamed alone through weary years, By cruel men still scorned and mocked, Until from faith's pure fires and tears Again he rose, and modest knocked.
Asked God, "Who now is at the door?" "It is thyself, belovèd Lord," Answered the Saint, in doubt no more, But clasped and rapt in his reward.
From the Persian of JALLAL-AD-DIN RUMI.
Translation of WILLIAM R. ALGER.
* * * * *
MATTER AND MAN IMMORTAL.
FROM "NIGHT THOUGHTS," NIGHT VI.
As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend: Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. With this minute distinction, emblems just, Nature revolves, but man advances; both Eternal, that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul, Ardent, and tremulous, like flame, ascends, Zeal and humility her wings, to Heaven. The world of matter, with its various forms, All dies into new life. Life born from death Rolls the vast mass, and shall for ever roll. No single atom, once in being, lost, With change of counsel charges the Most High. What hence infers Lorenzo? Can it be? Matter immortal? And shall spirit die? Above the nobler, shall less noble rise? Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, No resurrection know? Shall man alone, Imperial man! be sown in barren ground, Less privileged than grain, on which he feeds?
* * * * *
Look Nature through, 'tis neat gradation all. By what minute degrees her scale ascends! Each middle nature joined at each extreme, To that above is joined, to that beneath; Parts, into parts reciprocally shot, Abhor divorce: what love of union reigns! Here, dormant matter waits a call to life; Half-life, half-death, joined there; here life and sense; There, sense from reason steals a glimmering ray; Reason shines out in man. But how preserved The chain unbroken upward, to the realms Of incorporeal life? those realms of bliss Where death hath no dominion? Grant a make Half-mortal, half-immortal; earthy, part, And part ethereal; grant the soul of man Eternal; or in man the series ends. Wide yawns the gap; connection is no more; Checked Reason halts; her next step wants support; Striving to climb, she tumbles from her scheme.
DR. EDWARD YOUNG.
* * * * *
LIFE.
FROM "FESTUS," SCENE "A COUNTRY TOWN."
FESTUS.— Oh! there is A life to come, or all's a dream.
LUCIFER.— And all May be a dream. Thou seest in thine, men, deeds, Clear, moving, full of speech and order; then Why may not all this world be but a dream Of God's? Fear not! Some morning God may waken.
FESTUS.—I would it were. This life's a mystery. The value of a thought cannot be told; But it is clearly worth a thousand lives Like many men's. And yet men love to live As if mere life were worth their living for. What but perdition will it be to most? Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood; It is a great spirit and a busy heart. The coward and the small in soul scarce do live. One generous feeling—one great thought—one deed Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem Than if each year might number a thousand days, Spent as is this by nations of mankind. We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; In feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best. Life's but a means unto an end—that end Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
O beauteous God! uncircumscribèd treasure Of an eternal pleasure! Thy throne is seated far Above the highest star, Where thou preparest a glorious place, Within the brightness of thy face, For every spirit To inherit That builds his hopes upon thy merit, And loves thee with a holy charity. What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes Clear as the morning rise, Can speak, or think, or see That bright eternity, Where the great King's transparent throne Is of an entire jasper stone? There the eye O' the chrysolite, And a sky Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase,— And above all thy holy face,— Makes an eternal charity. When thou thy jewels up dost bind, that day Remember us, we pray,— That where the beryl lies, And the crystal 'bove the skies, There thou mayest appoint us place Within the brightness of thy face,— And our soul In the scroll Of life and blissfulness enroll, That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah!
JEREMY TAYLOR.
* * * * *
THE SPIRIT-LAND.
Father! thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed; Around us ever lies the enchanted land, In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. In finding thee are all things round us found; In losing thee are all things lost beside; Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound; And to our eyes the vision is denied. We wander in the country far remote, Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell; Or on the records of past greatness dote, And for a buried soul the living sell; While on our path bewildered falls the night That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.
JONES VERY.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, Beyond death's cloudy portal, There is a land where beauty never dies, Where love becomes immortal;
A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, Whose fields are ever vernal; Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, But blooms for aye eternal.
We may know how sweet its balmy air, How bright and fair its flowers; We may not hear the songs that echo there, Through those enchanted bowers.
The city's shining towers we may not see With our dim earthly vision, For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key That opes the gates elysian.
But sometimes, when adown the western sky A fiery sunset lingers, Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, Unlocked by unseen fingers.
And while they stand a moment half ajar, Gleams from the inner glory Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, And half reveal the story.
O land unknown! O land of love divine! Father, all-wise, eternal! O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine Into those pastures vernal!
NANCY AMELIA WOODBURY PRIEST.
* * * * *
TELL ME, YE WINGÈD WINDS.
Tell me, ye wingèd winds, That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sighed for pity as it answered,—"No."
Tell me, thou mighty deep. Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, Some island far away, Where weary man may find The bliss for which he sighs,— Where sorrow never lives, And friendship never dies? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer,—"No."
And thou, serenest moon, That, with such lovely face, Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace; Tell me, in all thy round Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man May find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet but sad, responded,—"No."
Tell me, my secret soul, O, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot Where mortals may be blest, Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whispered,—"Yes, in heaven!"
CHARLES MACKAY.
* * * * *
HEAVEN.
There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers; Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.
But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea, And linger shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away.
Oh! could we make our doubts remove, Those gloomy doubts that rise, And see the Canaan that we love With unbeclouded eyes—
Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood Should fright us from the shore.
ISAAC WATTS.
* * * * *
PEACE.
My soul, there is a country Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a wingèd sentry, All skilful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger, Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend, And (O my soul awake!) Did in pure love descend, To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of peace— The rose that cannot wither— Thy fortress, and thy ease.
Leave, then, thy foolish ranges; For none can thee secure, But one who never changes— Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
HENRY VAUGHAN.
* * * * *
STAR-MIST.
FROM "STARS."
More and more stars! behold yon hazy arch Spanning the vault on high, By planets traversed in majestic march, Seeming to earth's dull eye A breath of gleaming air: but take thou wing Of Faith and upward spring:— Into a thousand stars the misty light Will part; each star a world with its own day and night.
Not otherwise of yonder Saintly host Upon the glorious shore Deem thou. He marks them all, not one is lost; By name He counts them o'er. Full many a soul, to man's dim praise unknown, May on its glory throne As brightly shine, and prove as strong in prayer As theirs, whose separate beams shoot keenest thro' this air.
JOHN KEBLE.
* * * * *