Must yield to the ruthless human grasp,
And open its lid to me.

Thou peaceful child of a noisy deep!

Thou must bid thy home farewell,

Or he who dives will sleep the sleep
Of death, for a muscle's shell.

But the goodly pearl that the merchant bought,
And for which his all he gave,

Is a purer one than will e'er be brought
From under the foaming wave.

"T will still be bright, when the forms that wore The treasures I sought to-day,

With their beauty and wealth, to be seen no more, Have faded and passed away.

Its lustre will far outlast the sight

Of every mortal eye!

When the sun and the stars have lost their light, "Twill shine in the upper sky!

It will not fret while the spheres revolve,
And round it their ways pursue;

It will not melt, though the heavens dissolve, And the earth, to be made anew!

And those who are wise, and seek to know
The worth of this stainless gem,

They never will ask me, thus, to throw

Myself in the deep for them.

NEWBURYPORT.

H. F. G.

THE HEART IS FIXED.

Heb. xii. 1.

THE heart is fixed, and fixed the eye,

And I am girded for the race:

The Lord is strong, and I rely

On his assisting grace.

Race for the swift-it must be run,

A prize laid up—it must be won.

And I have tarried longer now
(Pleased with the scenes of time)
Than fitteth those who hope to go

To Heaven, that holy clime;

Who hope to pluck the fruit which grows Where the immortal river flows.

C

The atmosphere of earth-Oh! how
It hath bedimmed the eye,

And quenched the spirit's fervent glow,
And stayed the purpose high;

And how these feet have gone astray,

That should have walked the narrow way.

Race for the swift-I must away,

With footstep firm and free ;

Ye pleasures that invite my stay
And cares, are naught to me;

For lo! it gleameth on my eye,
The glory of that upper sky.

'A prize laid up'-said he who fought That holy fight of old,

'Laid up in Heaven for me, yet not
For me alone that crown of gold,

But all who wait till thou appear,
Saviour, the diadem shall wear.’

Patiently wait-so help thou me,
O meek and holy One,

That dim although the vision be,
The race I still may run;

This eye thus lifted to the skies,

This heart thus burning for the prize.

G. E. A.