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LVII.

MUSIC.

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IKE the gale, that fighs along

Beds of oriental flowers,
Is the grateful breath of song,
That once was heard in happier

hours ;
Filled with balm, the gale fighs on,

Though the flowers have sunk in death; So, when pleasure's dream is gone,

Its memory lives in music's breath.

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Music! oh how faint, how weak,

Language fades before thy spell! Why should Feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so well?
Friendship’s balmy words may feign,

Love's are e'en more false than they ;
Oh! 'tis only Music's strain
Can sweetly soothe, and not betray!

Moore.

LVIII.

W

MUSIC.
HERE the bright Seraphim, in burning

row,
Their loud uplifted angel trumpets

blow;
And the Cherubick host, in thousand

quires,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly.

MILTON.

LIX.

MUSIC.

A

ND storied windows, richly dight,

Casting a dim religious light;
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below,

In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all heaven before mine eyes.

Milton.

LX.

ST. IGNATIUS.

S, one by one, stars on the Eastern space

Come forth, while daylight fades,
And greet each other to their heavenly

place,

Thus, while death's deepening fhades Darken around thy steps in stranger lands, Sweet awful memories of thine own St. John Wake round thee; martyred Peter beckoning stands, And stirs again the Spirit's benison Given through his hands ; upon the self-fame road, Lo, the bright footsteps of the death-bound Paul! Thy soul is fanned to burning hardihood : We hear in thee the Bridegroom's warning call, And full of glowing life thy dying accents fall!

LXI.

NICOMEDES.

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ITH age invested, thou didft mount

above,
And yet, too soon for us. Could

this be juft?
But hold my murmur

- In His mighty love, The Saviour laid thy body in the dust. That thou might'st rule thy flock a priest on high, And teach thy children to ascend the sky.

SYNESIUS.

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LXII.

ST. AUGUSTINE.

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HE child of tears, the child of tears,
Of many hopes and anxious fears,
Is better than the child whose birth
Is usher'd in with sounds of mirth.

Think not that nought is well below,
Save when the tides of pleasure flow;
For tears can come from God above,
The sacred tears of mother's love.

Despair not of thy wayward fon,
Nor think that all thou canst is done ;
For not in vain those tears are shed,
They must bring blessings on his head.

He cannot, must not, shall not die ;
His life is ransomed for the sky;
Where God Himself shall dry thy tears,
And joys eternal banish fears.
Grief-wasted Mother, go thy way,
Be sure thy tears have won the day ;
For prayers can ope the gates of Heaven ;
All force to prayers and tears is given.*

MACKENZIE.

* The above lines are a sort of paraphrase from the confessions of St. Augustine, 1. iii. c. ult. by the late F. Mackenzie.

R

LXIII.

MELANCTHON.

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JIS sun went down in cloudless skies,
Affured

upon the morn to rise
In lovelier

array.
But not like earth's declining light,

To vanish back again to night;
The zenith where he now shall glow,
No bound, no setting beam can know-
Without a cloud or shade of woe

In that eternal day.

LXIV.

LYCIDAS.

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JEEP no more, woful shepherds, weep no

more, For Lycidas your forrow is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery

flood; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore, Flames in the forehead of the morning sky; So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the

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waves.

MILTON. .

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