Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower,
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour!

Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And fate descend in sudden night
On manhood's middle day.

Our have seen the steps of age

eyes

Halt feebly t'wards the tomb;

And yet shall earth our hearts engage,
And dreams of days to come?

Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know;
Where'er thy foot can tread,
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead!

Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;

The bones that underneath thee lie

Shall live for hell or heaven.

BISHOP HEBER.

CHRIST'S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

Ride on! ride on in majesty!

Hark, all the tribes Hosanna cry!

Thy humble beast pursues his road,

With palms and scatter'd garments strew’d.

Ride on! ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

O Christ thy triumphs now begin

O'er captive death and conquer'd sin.

Ride on! ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down, with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice!

Ride on ride on in majesty!

In lowly pomp ride on to die!

Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,

Then take, O God! thy power and reign!

MILMAN.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, who is He?-
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd brow,
Son of Man! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou!

Bound upon the accursed tree,
Dread and awful, who is He? -
By the sun at noonday pale,
Shivering rocks, and rending veil,
By earth that trembles at his doom,
By yonder saints who burst their tomb,
By Eden, promised ere He died
To the felon at his side,

Lord! our suppliant knees we bow,
Son of God! 'tis Thou, 'tis Thou!

MILMAN.

FUNERAL ANTHEM.

Brother, thou art gone before us,
And thy saintly soul is flown,
Where tears are wiped from every eye
And sorrow is unknown;

From the burthen of the flesh,
And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling
And the weary are at rest.

The toilsome way thou'st travell❜d o'er,
And borne the heavy load,

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet
To reach his blest abode;

Thou'rt sleeping now, like Lazarus
Upon his Father's breast,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

Sin can never taint thee now,

Nor doubt thy faith assail,

Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ

And the Holy Spirit fail:

And there thou'rt sure to meet the good,

Whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,

And the weary are at rest.

"Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"

The solemn priest hath said;

So we lay the turf above thee now,

And we seal thy narrow bed:

But thy spirit, brother, soars away

Among the faithful blest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.

And when the Lord shall summon us,
Whom thou hast left behind,

May we, untainted by the world,
As sure a welcome find;

May each, like thee, depart in peace,

To be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

MILMAN.

A PRAYER.

Lord! who art merciful as well as just,
Incline thine ear to me, a child of dust!
Not what I would, O Lord! I offer thee,
Alas! but what I can.

Father Almighty, who hast made me man,
And bade me look to heaven, for thou art there,
Accept my sacrifice and humble prayer.
Four things which are not in thy treasury,
I lay before thee, Lord, with this petition:
My nothingness, my wants,
My sins, and my contrition.

SOUTHEY.

THE SIGNS OF RAIN.

The hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the glass is low,
The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep.
Hark! how the chairs and tables crack;
Old Betty's joints are on the rack;
Loud quack the ducks, the peacocks cry,
The distant hills are seeming nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine!
The busy flies disturb the kine:

C

Low o'er the grass the swallow wings,
The cricket too how sharp he sings!
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whisker'd jaws;
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the incautious flies;
The frog has changed his yellow vest,
And in a russet coat is drest;

My dog, so alter'd in his taste,

Quits mutton bones-on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
They imitate the gliding kite,
And seem precipitate to fall,

As if they felt the piercing ball.

T'will surely rain. I see with sorrow
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

JENNER.

ADDRESS TO A CHILD.

BY A FEMALE FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR.

What way does the wind come? What way does he go?

He rides over the water, and over the snow,

Through wood, and through vale; and o'er rocky

height,

Which the goat cannot climb, takes his sounding flight;

He tosses about in every bare tree,

As, if you look up, you plainly may see;
But how he will come, and whither he goes,
There's never a scholar in England knows.

He will suddenly stop in a cunning nook,
And ring a sharp larum ;-but, if you
should look,
There's nothing to see but a cushion of snow
Round as a pillow, and whiter than milk,
And softer than if it were covered with silk.