So changeful is life's fleeting day,

Whene'er we sever

hope may say

"We part to meet again!”

Even the last parting earth can know, Brings not unutterable woe,

To souls that heavenward soar; For humble Faith, with steadfast eye, Points to a brighter world on high, Where hearts that here at parting sigh, May meet -to part no more.

Thomas Moore.

1780-1852.

COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.

On! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone;

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,

Is dimmed and vanished too,—
Oh who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love

Come brightly wafting through the gloom
Our peace-branch from above!

Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.

BUT WHO SHALL SEE.

BUT who shall see the glorious day
When, throned on Zion's brow,
The Lord shall rend that veil away
Which hides the nations now?
When earth no more beneath the fear
Of His rebuke shall lie ;

When pain shall cease, and every tear
Be wiped from ev'ry eye.

Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn
Beneath the heathen's chain ;

Thy days of splendor shall return,

And all be new again.

The Fount of Life shall then be quaffed
In peace, by all who come;

And every wind that blows shall waft
Some long-lost exile home.

BLISS OF HEAVEN.

Go, wing thy flight from star to star,
From world to luminous world as far

As the universe spreads its flaming wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years, One minute of heaven is worth them all.

William Cullen Bryant.

1794.

THE RETURN OF YOUTH.

My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime,
For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight.
Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time

Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light, Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong, And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to

speak,

And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong
Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek.

Thou lookest forward on the coming days,
Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep.
A path, thick-set with changes and decays
Slopes downward to the place of common sleep;