This lamp, from off the everlasting throne, MEMORY. Wordsworth. A PEN, to register; a key, That winds through secret wards, Are well assigned to memory As aptly, also, might be given. That, softening objects, sometimes even That smooths foregone distress, the lines And clothes in brighter hues: Yet, like a tool of fancy, works That startle conscience, as she lurks Within her lonely seat. Oh! that our lives, which flee so fast, In purity were such, That not an image of the past Should fear the pencil's touch! Retirement then might hourly look Age steal to his allotted nook, With heart as calm as lakes that sleep LIFE'S MISSIONER. THIS mortal life of few and fleeting days Like some lost pilgrim to the distant shrine On the far track behind him. So on mine The trembling spirit marks life's fading strand, Hasting to that far bourne where its last-loved hopes lie. INSPIRATION. A Sonnet. O WORD of God-not by the letter bound, Man worshipped humbly where he nothing knows. A CHILD'S FIRST IMPRESSION OF A STAR. Willis. SHE had been told that God made all the stars Of beauty that she could not comprehend, Filled her young heart with gladness; and the eve Father, dear father, God has made a star!" A THOUGHT. A NAMELESS man, amid the crowd The thought upon the tumult thrown, Has raised a brother from the dust, O thought of light! O breath of love! |