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On Science? see! his favorite sons have fled

Like the pale lamp that lit their midnight toil, Forgotten as the flower that deck'd the vernal soil.

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Build'st thou on Love?—the simple heart it cheers
When high in health and all around is gay,
Yet leads to folly, vanity, and tears;
Build'st thou on Fame ?-the dancing meteor's
Glides not more swift, more unperceived away.

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Ah! why on sands like these thy temple rear? How shall its base the storms and billows shun? Seek the Eternal Rock with humble fear,

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And on the tablet of each setting sun, Grave with a diamond's point, some deed of duty done.

If thou art young
Mature the gathering ills of life beware,
Aged-O, make His mighty arm thy stay,

Who saves the weakest suppliant from despair, And bids the darken'd tomb a robe of glory wear. Anonymous.

- the words of wisdom weigh,


"Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man hath not where to lay his head." - Luke is


On the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast;
And o'er the waters drearily
Sweeps the bleak evening blast.

The weary bird hath left the air,

And sunk into his sheltered nest;
The wandering beast hath sought his lair,
And laid him down to welcome rest.

Still, near the lake, with weary tread,
Lingers a form of human kind;
And, from his lone unsheltered head
Flows the chill night-damp on the wind.

Why seeks not he a home of rest?

Why seeks not he the pillowed bed?
Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;-
He hath not where to lay his head!

Such was the lot he freely chose,
To bless, to save, the human race;

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And through his poverty there flows
A rich full stream of heavenly grace.


"And he came and touched the bier; and they that bare him stood still. And he said; 'Young man, I say unto thee, arise.' And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak."- Luke vii. 14, 15.

W. Russell.


O MINGLE With the widow's tears

The drops for misery shed:

She bends beneath the weight of years;
Her earthly hope is fled.

Her son - her only son is
Oh, who shall wipe that eye?
For she must journey lonely on,
And solitary die!

The pall upon his corse is spread,
The bier they slowly raise;
It cannot rouse the slumbering dead,
That widow'd mother's gaze.

She follows on, without a tear,
Her dear, her darling child:

But who is He that stops the bier,
With look and accent mild?

The Saviour is that pitying one;
His glance her woe disarms
"Young man, arise!".

Is in his mother's, arms!

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a living son

W. H. Furness.


WAKE not, O mother, sounds of lamentation;
Weep not, O widow, weep not hopelessly:
Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation,

Strong is the word of God to succor thee.

Bear forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him: Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all.

Why pause the mourners? who forbids our weeping?

Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? 'Set down the bier- he is not dead, but sleeping. 'Young man, arise!'-He spake,and was obeyed.

Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee.

Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succor thee.




the widow's heart must break,
The childless mother sink?-

A kinder, truer voice I hear,

Which even beside that mournful bier

Whence parents's eyes would hopeless shrink,

Bids weep no more O heart bereft,
How strange, to thee, that sound!
A widow o'er her only son,

Feeling more bitterly alone

For friends that press officious round.

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Yet is the voice of comfort heard,
For Christ hath touched the bier-
The bearers wait with wondering eye,
The swelling bosom dares not sigh,

But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear.

Even such an awful soothing calm
We sometimes see alight

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