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HICH is the happiest death to die?
“Oh!” said one, “ if I might choose,
With bright celestial views.
The victory I should gain.
“ Fain would I catch a hymn of love
“No,” said another ;
« so not I;
Nor hear the quivering lips that bless me,
“ So would I die
So would I die.
Even so, I long to go,
His voice grew weak, and fixed was his eye,
They looked — he was dead!
His spirit had fled:
And proved how bright
Were the realms of light, Bursting at once upon the fight !
OW poor, how rich, how abject, how
august, How complicate, how wonderful is
man ! How passing wonder He who made
him such! Who centred in our make such strange extremes ! From different natures, marvellously mixed, Connexion exquisite of diftant worlds! Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! Midway from nothing to the Deity! A beam ethereal, sullied and absorbed ! Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine ! Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! A worm! a god !-I tremble at myself, And in myself am loft. At home, a stranger, Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghaft, And wondering at her own. How reason reels ! O what a miracle to man is man ! Triumphantly distressed! what joy ! what dread! Alternately transported and alarmed! What can preserve my life? or what destroy ? An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; Legions of angels can't confine me there.
THOU! by Heaven ordained to be
Can raise or bend him to thy will,
Be angel-minded, and despise
For woe awaits the luckless hour
Woman! 'tis thine to cleanse his heart
His pattern guide and friend to be,
ONOUR to women! entwining and
braiding Life's garland with roses for ever un
fading, In the veil of the graces all mo
destly kneeling, Love's band with sweet spells have they wreathed, have
they blessed, And tending with hands ever pure have caressed
The Alame of each holy, each beautiful feeling.
Ever truth's bright bounds outrages
Man, and his wild fpirit strives ;
As the storm of passion drives ;
Grasps he at the future’s gleam ;
The restless phantom of his dream.
But the glances of women, enchantingly glowing,
A link round the present, that binds like a spellIn the meek cottage home of the mother presiding, All graces, all gentleness, round them abiding,
As nature's true daughters, how sweetly they dwell!