Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

LONGFELLOW.

83. THE BOOK OF NATURE.

THEI

HERE is a book who runs may read,
Which heavenly truth imparts;

And all the lore its scholars need,

Pure eyes

and Christian hearts.

The works of God above, below,

Within us and around,
Are pages in that book, to show
How God himself is found.
The glorious sky, embracing all,
Is like the Maker's love;
Wherewith encompass'd, great and small
In peace and order move.

The moon above, the Church below,
A wondrous race they run;

But all their radiance, all their glow,
Each borrows of its sun.

The Saviour lends the light and heat
That crowns His holy hill;

The saints, like stars, around His seat
Perform their courses still.

The saints above are stars in Heaven-
What are the saints on earth?

Like trees they stand, whom God has given Our Eden's happy birth.

Faith is their fix'd unswerving root,

Hope their unfading flower,

Fair deeds of charity their fruit,
The glory of their bower.

The dew of Heaven is like Thy grace;
It steals in silence down;

But where it lights the favour'd place
By richest fruits is known.

One Name above all glorious names,
With its ten thousand tongues,
The everlasting sea proclaims,
Echoing angelic songs.

The raging fire, the roaring wind,
Thy boundless power display;
But in the gentler breeze we find
Thy Spirit's viewless way.

Two worlds are ours: 'tis only sin
Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within,
Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou who hast given me eyes to see
And love this sight so fair;

Give me a heart to find out Thee,
And read Thee everywhere!

KEBLE.

84. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

STOP

[From CHILDE HAROLD.]

(TOP!—for thy tread is on an Empire's dust! An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust, Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so: As the ground was before, thus let it be.— How that red rain-hath made the harvest grow! And is this all the world has gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory? There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd then Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined!
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet-
But hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! Arm! it is!—it is!-the cannon's opening roar !

Within a window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,

And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear: And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar,
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldiers ere the morning star;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! they
come, they come !"

Last noon-beheld our chieftains full of life;
Last eve-in beauty's circle proudly gay;

The midnight-brought the signal-sound of strife;
The morn
-the marshalling in arms,—the day—
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent The earth is cover'd thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover-heap'd and pent,

Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial

blent!

85.

FRIENDS.

LORD BYRON.

FRIE

RIEND after friend departs;
Who hath not lost a friend?
There is no union here of hearts,
That finds not here an end;
Were this frail world our only rest,
Living or dying, none were blest.
Beyond the flight of time,

Beyond this vale of death,
There surely is some blessed clime
Where life is not a breath,
Nor life's affections transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upwards and expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown,
A whole eternity of love,

Form'd for the good alone;
And faith beholds the dying here
Translated to that glorious sphere.