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"Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known."-1 COR. xiii. 12.


WHO ever saw the birth-place of the fountain?
What eye can trace it to its journey's end?
We say its earliest home is in the mountain,
And that 'tis lost where ocean's waves extend;
But ah! how little do we know of either!

'Tis like the wind, we see not whence it comes; And, for its end, the wisest dream not whither

The little rippling dancing streamlet roams.


Perchance we deem that this at least is certain

'Tis ever still a wanderer on the earth;

But then, what forms that soft and silvery curtain,
Which scarcely hides yon orb of lofty birth?
Or say, whence came the gems that in the morning
Were glittering all around, but now are gone :
Lovelier than ever were a bride's adorning,
And briefer too-though evening saw her lone?


'Tis mystery all! the cloud so light and fleecy,
And so transparent to the gazer's eye,
Trace for an hour-oh, 'twere a task as easy
To track the rainbow to or from the sky!
And the bright dew that smiled its little hour,
Clearer than crystal to the outward sense,
Were dark as midnight to that deeper power
Which fain would scan its birth, or trace it hence!


Be still, my soul! and know that thy Creator

Is great, "past finding out," the mighty God!

'Tis all thou knowest, or that suits thy nature

To know ere sinks thy dwelling in the sod: Ah, no!-one truth besides that God hath taught thee,

And oh! out-pour thy praise!—that he hath given His only Son to die for thee, and bought thee To live, and know as thou art known, in heaven!

A little season,


and in light unclouded,

A light that beams from one bright centre, love, All shall unfolded be that now is shrouded

To every eye that looks not from above: Oh, watch its dawning! watch as o'er the mountain The traveller watches through the gloom of night, And thou shalt see the birth-place of the fountain, The dew, the cloud, the sun, and rainbow hues

of light!



"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." -ECCLES. ix. 10.


"TIS said that life is but a dream,

Or shadow that doth come and go;
And to the thoughtful it might seem,

Full many count it so.


But neither image, if ye view
It well, and closely scan,

Will ye discover pictures true
The life of mortal man.


A dream-of gladness, or of grief

May end as it begun :

A shadow passeth, and its brief,
Scarce noticed course is run.


A dream, when judgment to her throne The morning beams restore,

And shadow, when 'tis past and gone,

Are seldom heard of more.


But human life, if named aright,

What is it but the seed

Of growing ages infinite,

That human death succeed?


It never ends as it began:

It hardly passeth by :

We breathe and thus begin the span ; We cease to breathe-and die.

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