But a day is coming fast,

Earth, thy mightiest and thy last;
It shall come in fear and wonder,
Heralded by trump and thunder;
It shall come in strife and toil,
It shall come in blood and spoil,
It shall come in empires' groans,
Burning temples, trampled thrones;
Then, ambition, rue thy lust!
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

Then shall come the judgment sign;
In the east the King shall shine;
Flashing from heaven's golden gate,
Thousand thousands round his state;
Spirits with the crown and plume;
Tremble then, thou sullen tomb!
Heaven shall open on our sight,
Earth be turned to living light,
Kingdoms of the ransomed just-
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

Then shall, gorgeous as a gem,
Shine thy mount, Jerusalem;
Then shall in the desert rise
Fruits of more than Paradise ;
Earth by angel feet be trod,
One great garden of her God;
Till are dried the martyr's tears,
Through a glorious thousand years.
Now in hope of Him we trust-
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!"

ANDREWS NORTON.

MR. NORTON was born at Hingham, near Boston, in 1786. He entered Harvard College in 1800, and was graduated in 1804. He studied divinity, but never became a settled clergyman. He was for a time tutor at Bowdoin College, and afterwards tutor and librarian in Harvard University. In 1819, he became Dexter Professor of Sacred Literature in the latter institution. He resigned that office in 1830, and has since resided at Cambridge as a private gentleman.

Mr. Norton is author of "The Evidences of the Genuineness of the Gospels," published, in three octavo volumes, in 1848; and of several other theological works, in which he has exhibited great abilities. His poetical writings are remarkable for elegance and a religious dignity and fervor.

WRITTEN AFTER THE DEATH OF CHARLES ELIOT.

FAREWELL! before we meet again,

Perhaps through scenes as yet unknown,

That lie in distant years of pain,

I have to journey on alone;

To meet with griefs thou wilt not feel,
Perchance with joys thou canst not share;

And when we both were wont to kneel,
To breathe alone the silent prayer;

But ne'er a deeper pang to know,
Than when I watched thy slow decay,

Saw on thy cheek the hectic glow,

And felt at last each hope give way.

But who the destined hour may tell,
That bids the loosened spirit fly?
E'en now this pulse's feverish swell
May warn me of mortality.

But chance what may, thou wilt no more With sense and wit my hours beguile, Inform with learning's various lore,

Or charm with friendship's kindest smile.

Each book I read, each walk I tread,
Whate'er I feel, whate'er I see,
All speak of hopes forever fled,

All have some tale to tell of thee.

I shall not, should misfortune lower,
Should friends desert, and life decline,
I shall not know thy soothing power,

Nor hear thee say, "My heart is thine."

If thou hadst lived, thy well-earned fame Had bade my fading prospect bloom, Had cast its lustre o'er my name,

And stood the guardian of my tomb.

Servant of God! thy ardent mind,
With lengthening years improving still.
Striving, untired, to serve mankind,

Had thus performed thy Father's will.

Another task to thee was given ;

'Twas thine to drink of early wo, To feel thy hopes, thy friendships riven, And bend submissive to thy blow;

With patient smile and steady eye,

To meet each pang that sickness gave, And see with lingering step draw nigh The form that pointed to the grave.

Servant of God! thou art not there;
Thy race of virtue is not run;
What blooms on earth of good and fair,
Will ripen in another sun.

Dost thou, amid the rapturous glow
With which the soul her welcome hears,
Dost thou still think of us below,

Of earthly scenes, of human tears?

Perhaps e'en now thy thoughts return
To when in summer's moonlight walk,
Of all that now is thine to learn,

We framed no light nor fruitless talk.

We spake of knowledge, such as soa:s
From world to world with ceaseless flight;
And love, that follows and adores,
As nature spreads before her sight.
How vivid still past scenes appear!

I feel as though all were not o'er;
As though 'twere strange I cannot hear
Thy voice of friendship yet once more.

But I shall hear it; in that day

Whose setting sun I may not view, When earthly voices die away,

Thine will at last be heard anew.

We meet again; a little while,

And where thou art I too shall be.
And then, with what an angel smile
Of gladness, thou wilt welcome me!

HYMN.

My God, I thank thee! may no thought
E'er deem thy chastisements severe;
But may this heart, by sorrow taught,
Calm each wild wish, each idle fear.

Thy mercy bids all nature bloom,

The sun shines bright, and man is gay ; Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom That darkens o'er his little day.

Full many a throb of grief and pain

Thy frail and erring child must know;
But not one prayer is breathed in vain,
Nor does one tear unheeded flow.

Thy various messengers employ;
Thy purposes of love fulfil;
And, 'mid the wreck of human joy,
May kneeling faith adore thy will!

FORTITUDE.

FAINT not, poor traveller, though thy way
Be rough, like that thy Saviour trod;
Though cold and stormy lower the day,
This path of suffering leads to God.

Nay, sink not; though from every limb
Are starting drops of toil and pain;
Thou dost but share the lot of Him

With whom his followers are to reign.

Thy friends are gone, and thou, alone,
Must bear the sorrows that assail;

Look upward to the eternal throne,

And know a Friend who cannot fail.

Bear firmly; yet a few more days,
And thy hard trial will be past;
Then, wrapped in glory's opening blaze,
Thy feet will rest on heaven at last.

Christian! thy Friend, thy Master prayed,
When dread and anguish shook his frame;

Then met his sufferings undismayed;

Wilt thou not strive to do the same?

O! think'st thou that his Father's love Shone round him then with fainter rays Than now, when, throned all height above, Unceasing voices hymn his praise?