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should be so bold; how she had never feared to enter the church alone, at night, but had loved to linger there when all was quiet; and even to climb the tower-stair, with no more light than that of the moon-rays stealing through the loop-holes in the thick old walls. A whisper went about among the oldest there, that she had seen and talked with ngels; and, when they called to mind how she had looked and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be 60, indeed.

17. Thus, coming to the grave in little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to others, and falling off in whispering groups of three or four, the church was cleared, in time, of all but the sexton and the mourning friends. Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place,-when the bright moon poured in her light on tomb and monument, on pillar, wall, and arch, -and, most of all, it seemed to them, upon her quiet grave, -in that calm time, when all outward things and inward thoughts teem with assurances of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears are humbled in the dust before them, then, with tranquil and submissive hearts, they turned away, and left the child with God.

EXERCISE CXXXI.

It is sometimes desirable to have each member of a class read a piece complete in itself. To answer this end, the following collection of brief, though beautiful productions, have been brought together all under one head.

1.

I.

THE SCULPTOR-BOY'S VISION.

Chisel in hand stood a sculptor-boy,
With his marble block before him,

2.

And his face lit up with a smile of joy,

As an angel-dream passed o'er him;

He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
With many a sharp incision;

With heaven's own light the sculpture shone,-
He had caught that angel vision.

Sculptures of Life are we, as we stand
With our souls uncarved before us;
Waiting the hour when at God's command,
Our life-dream passes o'er us.

If we carve it then, on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own,
OUR LIVES, THAT ANGEL VISION.

II.

YEARS AGO.

GEORGE P. MORE'S

1. Near the banks of that lone river,
Where the water-lilies grow,

Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded years ago.
How we met and loved and parted,
None on earth can ever know-
Nor how pure and gentle-hearted
Beamed the mourned one years ago.

2. Like the stream with lilies laden,
Will life's future current flow,
Till in Heaven I meet the maiden,
Fondly cherished years ago.

Hearts that love, like mine, forget not;
They 're the same in weal or woe,
And the star of memory set not
In the grave of years ago.

III.

FREEDOM OF THE MIND.

WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON,

High walls and huge the body may confine,
And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze,
And massive bolts may baffle his design,

And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways:
Yet scorns the immortal mind this base control!
No chains can bind it, and no cell inclose:
(Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole,

And in a flash from earth to heaven it goes!
It leaps from mount to mount; from vale to vale
It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers;
It visits home, to hear the fireside tale,

Or, in sweet converse, pass the joyous hours.
"Tis up before the sun, roaming afar,
And in its watches wearies every star.

ANNE C. LYNCH,

IV.

INVOCATION.

1 On the swift-flying hours

Another bright day,

With its tears and its smiles,

Has vanished away.

Thou who dost number

Our days as they flee,

May each that departs

Bear us nearer to Thee! :

2. On the wide sea of life,

Soon our barks will be tost,
And the sweet ties that bind us

Be broken and lost.

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"For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.". Matthew, vi. 21.

1. Thy path, like most by mortal trod,
Will have its thorns and flowers,

Its stony steps, its velvet sod,

Its sunshine and its showers.

BERNARD BARTON.

2. Through smooth and rough, o'er flower and thorn,
Beneath whatever sky,

Still bear thee as a being born
For immortality.

3. And be thy choicest treasures stored
Where Faith may hold the key;

For "where our treasure is," our Lord
Hath said." the heart will be."

VII.

LINES BY A YOUNG LADY BORN BLIND.

1. If this delicious, grateful flower,

Which blows but for a little hour,
Should to the sight so lovely be,
As from its fragrance seems to me,
A sigh must then its color show,
For that's the softest joy I know;
And sure the rose is like a sigh,
Born just to soothe, and then-to die.

2. My father, when our fortune smiled,

1.

With jewels decked his eyeless child;
Their glittering worth the world might see,
But, ah! they had no charms for me;
A trickling tear bedewed my arm,—
I felt it,--and my heart was warm;
And sure to me the gem most dear,
Was a kind father's pitying tear.

VIII.

ODE TO THE LARK.

Bird of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place,

O, to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth,

Where on thy dewy wing

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

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