49. THE BEST KEPT TILL LAST.

Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now. St. John ii. 10.

THE heart of childhood is all mirth:

We frolic to and fro

As free and blithe, as if on earth
Were no such thing as woe.

But if, indeed, with reckless faith
We trust the flattering voice,
Which whispers, "Take thy fill ere death,
Indulge thee and rejoice; "-

Too surely, every setting day,
Some lost delight we mourn;
The flow'rs all die along our way,
Till we, too, die forlorn.

Why should we fear, youth's draught of joy,
If pure, would sparkle less?
Why should the cup the sooner cloy,
Which God hath deign'd to bless?

Who but a Christian, through all life
Youth's blessing may prolong?

Who, through the world's sad day of strife,
Still chant his morning song?

Fathers may hate us or forsake,
GOD's foundlings then are we:
Mother on child no pity take,

But we shall still have Thee.

We may look home, and seek in vain
A fond fraternal heart,—

But Christ hath giv'n his promise plain,
To do a brother's part.

Nor shall dull age, as worldlings say,
The heavenward flame annoy:
The Saviour cannot pass away,
And with Him lives our joy.

Ever the richest, tenderest glow
Sets round th' autumnal sun

But there life fails: no heart may know
The bliss when life is done.

Such is thy banquet, dearest Lord;
O give us grace, to cast

Our lot with thine,- to trust thy word,―

And keep our best till last!

KEBLE.

50. SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

LOVE to look on a scene like this,
Of wild and careless play,

And persuade myself that I am not old,
And my locks are not yet gray;

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,

And it makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice,

And the light of a pleasant eye.

I have walk'd the earth for fourscore years;
And they say that I am old;
And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death,
And my years are well-nigh told.
It is very true; it is very true;
I'm old, and "I 'bide my time;
But my heart will leap at a scene like this,
And I half renew my prime.

Play on, play on; I am with you there,
In the midst of your merry ring;
I can feel the thrill of the daring jump,
And the rush of the breathless swing.
I hide with you in the fragrant hay,
And I whoop the smother'd call,

And my

feet slip on the reedy floor,

And I care not for the fall.

I am willing to die when my time shall come.
And I shall be glad to go;

For the world, at best, is a weary place,
And my pulse is getting low;

But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail
On treading its gloomy way;

And it wiles my heart from its dreariness,
To see the young so gay.

N. P. WILLIS.

IN

51. CARDINAL WOLSEY.

[From THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.]

full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand,

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand :

To him the church, the realm, their pow'rs consign,
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine;
Turn'd by his nod the stream of honour flows,
His smile alone security bestows;

Still to new heights his restless wishes tow'r,
Claim leads to claim, and pow'r advances pow'r;
Till conquest, unresisted, ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize.

At length his sovereign frowns. the train of state Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate. Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye, His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly; Now drops at once the pride of awful state, The golden canopy, the glittering plate, The regal palace, the luxurious board, The liveried army, and the menial lord. With age, with cares, with maladies oppress'd, He seeks the refuge of monastic rest: Grief aids disease, remember'd folly stings, And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

DR. JOHNSON.

52. THE PAPER KITE.

NCE on a time, a Paper Kite

ONCE

Had mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express'd self-admiration :

"See, how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple!
How would they wonder, if they knew
All that a kite like me can do!
Were I but free, I'd take a flight,
And pierce the clouds beyond their sight:
But ah! like a poor pris'ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground:
I'd brave the eagle's tow'ring wing,
Might I but fly without a string."

It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke,
To break the string at last it broke.
Depriv'd at once of all its stay,
In vain it tried to soar away;
Unable its own weight to bear,
It flutter'd downwards through the air:
Unable its own course to guide,

The winds soon plung'd it in the tide.
Ah! foolish kite; thou hadst no wing!
How couldst thou fly without a string?

My heart replied: "O Lord, I see How much this kite resembles me! Forgetful that by thee I stand, Impatient of thy ruling hand,