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CXLI.

THE wintry winds have ceased to blow,
And trembling leaves appear;
And fairest flowers succeed the snow,

And hail the infant year.

So when the world, and all its woes,

Are vanished far away,

Fair scenes and wonderful repose
Shall bless the new-born day.

"Tis but a sleep,-and power divine Shall call the many dead;

'Tis but a sleep-and then we sing

O'er dreams of sorrow fled.

Yes! wintry winds have ceased to blow,

And trembling leaves appear;

And Nature has her types to shew
Throughout the varying year.

As Ocean rolls its billows to the shore,
The distant waves impelling those before;
As leaves luxuriant, which the woods supply,
In summer flourish, and in autumn die;
So generations pass: at Nature's call
They rise successive, and successive fall.

CXLIII.

SWEET is the scene when virtue dies,
When sinks a righteous soul to rest!
How mildly beam the closing eyes,

How gently heaves th' expiring breast!

So fades a summer-cloud away;

So sinks the gale when storms are o'er; So gently shuts the eye of day;

So dies a wave along the shore.

Its duty done, as sinks the clay,
Light from its load the spirit flies;
While heaven and earth combine to say,
"Sweet is the scene when virtue dies!"

ANOTHER year

is swallowed by the sea

Of sumless waves!

Another year, thou past Eternity!

Hath rolled o'er new-made graves.

They open yet to bid the living weep,

Where tears are vain;

While they, unswept into the ruthless deep,
Storm-tried and sad, remain.

Why are we spared?

Surely to wear away,

By useful deeds,

Vile traces, left beneath the upbraiding spray, Of empty shells and weeds.

But there are things which time devoureth not: Thoughts whose green youth

Flowers o'er the ashes of the unforgot;

And words, whose fruit is truth.

Are ye not imaged in the eternal sea,

Things of to-day?

Deeds which are harvest for eternity,
Ye cannot pass away!

CALL them from the dead

For our eyes to see;
Prophet-bards, whose awful word

Shook the earth, "Thus saith the Lord,"

And made the idols flee

A glorious company!

Call them from the dead

For our eyes to see:

Sons of wisdom, song, and power,
Giving earth her richest dower,
And making nations free—

A glorious company!

Call them from the dead
For our eyes to see:

Forms of beauty, love, and grace,
"Sunshine in the shady place,"

That made it life to be-
A blessed company!

Call them from the dead

Vain the call will be;

But the hand of Death shall lay,
Like that of Christ, its healing clay

On

eyes which then shall see

That glorious company!

CXLVI.

I STOOP

Into a dark tremendous sea of cloud.

It is but for a time: I press God's lamp
Close to my breast: its splendours soon or late
Will pierce the gloom: I shall emerge some day.

CXLVII.

ART thou not from everlasting to everlasting? O God! mine Holy One!

WE SHALL not die.

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