POEMS ОР REFLECTION AND SENTIMENT. Ode to Duty. STERN Daughter of the Voice of God ! To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law From vain temptations dost set free; And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth: Glad hearts without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: Oh! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright, And they a blissful course may hold Live in the spirit of this creed ; Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. L I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd The task, in smoother walks to stray; But Thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; My hopes no more must change their name, Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear As the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before Thee on their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, And the most ancient heavens, through Thee are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Give unto me, made lowly wise, The confidence of reason give, And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! WORDSWORTH, A Life Lost. MEN think it is an awful sight To see a soul just set adrift On that drear voyage from whose night But 'tis more awful to behold A helpless infant newly born, But clutch the keys of darkness yet; Into God's harvest; I, that might O glorious Youth! that once wast mine! Ye enter at this ruin'd shrine Whence worship ne'er shall rise again; The bat and owl inhabit here, The snake rests in the altar-stone, The sacred vessels moulder near, A Psalm of Life. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and Time is fleeting. LOWELL. And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! LONGFELLOW. Aspirations of Youth. HIGHER, higher will we climb Up the mount of Glory; That our names may live through time In the mines of knowledge; Onward, onward will we press Through the path of duty; Virtue is true happiness, Excellence true beauty. Minds are of supernal birth, |