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Passages for the Memory.
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar :
And not in utter nakedness,
Our danger first we feel,
Betrays some angel's seal /
Sit watchers in their turn,
0. W. HOLMES.
ALL THINGS PERISH.
All to nothing swiftly tend,
From the French of WACE.
Though loveliness will pass away
Of heaven-designed Creation, through the lapse
From the low prayer of want and plaint of woe,
O never, never turn away thine ear! Forlorn in this bleak wilderness below,
Ah! what were man should heaven refuse to hear ! To others do (the law is not severe) What to thyself thou wishest to be done;
Forgive thy foes, and love thy parents dear; And friends and native land: nor these alone ; All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own.
RELIANCE ON GOD.
Though tempests frown Though Nature shakes, how soft to lean on Heaven To lean on Him on whom Archangels lean.
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer
TENNYSON. HEAVENLY HARMONIES.
A passage from Milton's Paradise Lost. No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all The multitude of angels, with a shout, Loud as from numbers without number, sweet As from blest voices, uttering joy, heaven rung With jubilee, and loud hosannas fill'd The eternal regions ; lowly reverent Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground With solemn adoration, down they cast Their crowns inwove with amarant and gold ; Immortal amarant, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life Began to bloom: but soon for man's offence To heaven removed, where first it grew,
ever tuned, that glittering by their side
Reason !-let it bend
To an instinct finer;
There is “mind diviner"
Love more sweet than flowers,
Through the endless hours ;
Light, and air, and ocean ;
Our divine emotion,-
Weighs out want and crime;
Crush the poet's rhyme,
REASON thus with life :
A breath thou art,
Thou art not thyself; For thou existest on many a thousand grains That issue out of dust : Happy thou art not: For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; And what thou hast, forget'st: Thou art not certain ; For thy complexion shifts to strange effects, After the moon : If thou art rich, thou art poor ; For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, Thou bear’st thy heavy riches but a journey, And Death unloads thee; Friends hast thou none; For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire, The mere effusion of thy proper loins, Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum, For ending thee no sooner; Thou hast nor youth nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. Yet in this life Lie bid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear.
THE MARTYRDOM OF ST. LUCY.
From a volume entitled Hierologus, by the Rev. J. M. NEALE.
Beneath the torturer's skill,
And the weary frame be still.
And the pain was fierce and sore,
Since we gazed upon her last,
Of the sufferings she had past;
There was courage in her eye,
And she enter'd the Amphitheatre,