XXVII.

THE DEPARTED.

HAT hallows ground where heroes fleep?

"Tis not the sculptured pile we heap; In dews that heavens far diftant weep, Their turf may bloom,

Or genii twine beneath the deep

Their coral tomb.

But ftrew his afhes to the wind,

Whose word or voice has ferved mankind.

And is he dead whofe glorious mind,

Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind,

Is not to die.

XXVIII.

THE DEPARTED.

ERVANT of God, well done!
Reft from thy loved employ;
The battle o'er, the victory won,
Enter thy Mafter's joy.

The cry at midnight came,

He started up to hear;

A mortal arrow pierced his frame,—

He fell, but felt no fear.

His fpirit with a bound

Left its encumbering clay;
His tent at funrise on the ground
A darkened ruin lay.

XXIX.

THE DEPARTED.

HEN let us be content to leave behind

So much, which yet we leave not quite behind;

For the bright memories of the holy dead,

The bleffed ones departed, fhine on us

Like the pure fplendours of fome large ftar,
Which pilgrims, travelling onward, at their back
Leave, and at every moment fee not now;
Yet, whenfoever they lift, may pause and turn,
And with their glories hide their faces ftill.
Or, as beneath a northern sky is feen
The funken funfet living in the Weft,
A tender radiance there furviving long,
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the fummits of the Orient Hills.

TRENCH.

XXX.

THE DEPARTED.

UR hearts are faftened to the world
By strong and endless ties,
But every forrow cuts a ftring,
And urges us to rise.

When Heaven would kindly fet us free,
And earth's enchantment end;
It takes the most effectual means,

And robs us of a friend.

YOUNG.

XXXI.

THE DEPARTED.

OW is the ftately column broke ;
The beacon light is quenched in smoke;

The trumpet's filver voice is ftill,

The warder filent on the hill.

XXXII.

HOLY SORROW.

OOD when He gives, fupremely good;
Nor lefs when He denies;
Afflictions, from His fovereign hand,
Are blefings in disguise.

H!

XXXIII.

HOLY SORROW.

weep not for the gathered rofe!
Oh! mourn not for the friend that

dies;

In beauty's breaft the flow'ret blows,
The foul is happy in the skies!

Weep not for thefe! but weep for them,

The unloved, the friendless, the unknown;

The flowers that wither on the stem,

The living that must live alone!

XXXIV.

RELIGION.

JORE fweet than odours caught by him
who fails

Near spicy fhores of Araby the bleft,
A thousand times more exquifitely
fweet,

The freight of holy feeling which we meet,
In thoughtful moments, wafted by the gales
From fields where good men walk, or bowers wherein
they reft.

WORDSWORTH.

XXXV.

RELIGION.

LOVE to fee yon glorious Sun,
First tinge the Eaft with purple dye;
And then with glowing fplendour run
Along the lofty azure sky.

I love to fee the Orb of night
Glide o'er her glittering ftarry way,
And with her brilliant filver light,
Upon the water's furface play.

But lovelier ftill than thefe appear
Religion's calm and flowery ways;
They foothe vain forrow, dry the tear,
And end with joy our earthly days.