SCIENCE ABORTIVE. ITH what vain speculations do we slake hence, If Higher Creatures at mankind's expense Start into life with senses broad awake To truths we only dream of; hands to shake The churchyard dust a thousand times blown wide Blinded by life itself, by fears half-crazed, WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. SELF-DECEPTION. HERE'S a Seer's peak on Ararat, they say, world; Not that supernal kingdom whence were hurled The rebel-angels ere Creation's day, But Eden-garden, Adam's first array, Round which the Flood-waves stood back like a wall, And whither still are sent the souls of all The good dead, where the cherubim sing and play. Dear lovely land we wait for and desire, Whence fondly-loved lost faces look back still, But from the depths between what mists aspire- WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. PAST AND FUTURE. AIR garden, where the man and woman dwelt, reprieve, The sabbath of each day, the restful eve, They sat in silence, with lock'd hands, and felt The voice which compass'd them, a-near, a-far, Which murmur'd in the fountains and the breeze, Which breathed in spices from the laden trees, And sent a silvery shout from each lone star. Sweet dream of Paradise! and if a dream, One that has help'd us when our faith was weak ; We wake, and still it holds us, but would seem Before us, not behind,-the good we seek,The good from lowest root which waxes ever, The golden age of science and endeavour. EMILY PFEIFFER. FAITH. 3OLLOW Me," Jesus said; and they uprose, Peter and Andrew rose and followed Him, And through a long hard life without repose, 66 Take up your cross and come with Me," He said; And the world listens yet through all her dead, And still would answer had we faith like those. But who can light again such beacon-fire! With gladsome haste and with rejoicing souls How would men gird themselves for the emprise ? Leaving their black boats by the dead lake's mire, Leaving their slimy nets by the cold shoals, Leaving their old oars, nor once turn their eyes. WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. CC. THE FOOTPRINTS. SOME to green under-glooms,—and in your hair wolf's-bane; And slumber and forget Him; if in vain Ye try to slumber off your sorrow there, To busy haunts where men and women sigh, Cry out aloud, "There is no God!" and die. But if upon a day when all is dark, Thou, stooping in the public ways, shalt mark Strange luminous footprints as of feet that shine, Follow them! follow them! O soul bereaven ! God had a Son,-He hath passed that way to heaven; Follow and look upon that Face divine! ROBERT BUCHANAN. |