shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet; when, instead of the sound of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through the broken arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered tower; when the garish sunbeam shall break into these gloomy mansions of death; and the ivy twine around the fallen columns; and the fox-glove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn, as if in mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away; his name perishes from record and from recollection; his history is a tale that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin.

W. IRVING.

LESSON CCXXIV.

TO THE ROSEMARY.

SWEET-Scented flower! who art wont to bloom

On January's front severe,
And o'er the wintry desert drear

To waft thy waste perfume!

Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now,
And I will bind thee round my brow;

And, as I twine the mournful wreath,

I'll weave a melancholy song:

And sweet the strain shall be and long,
The melody of death.

Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to dwell
With the pale corse in lonely tomb,
And throw across the desert gloom
A sweet decaying smell.

Come, press my lips, and lie with me
Beneath the lowly alder-tree;

And we will sleep a pleasant sleep,
And not a care shall dare intrude,
To break the marble solitude,

So peaceful and so deep.

And, hark! the wind-god, as he flies,
Moans hollow in the forest trees,
And sailing on the gusty breeze,
Mysterious music dies.

Sweet flower! that requiem wild is mine,

It warns me to the lonely shrine,

The cold turf-altar of the dead; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, Where as I lie, by all forgot,

A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed.

H. K. WHITE.

LESSON CCXXV.

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.
Ir is a beautiful belief,

That ever round our head
Are hovering, on noiseless wing,
The spirits of the dead.

It is a beautiful belief,

When finished our career,
That it will be our destiny

To watch o'er others here;

To lend a moral to the flower,
Breathe wisdom on the wind,
To hold commune, at night's pure noon,
With the imprisoned mind;

To bid the erring cease to err,
The trembling be forgiven,
To bear away from ills of clay
The infant to its Heaven.

Ah, when delight was found in life,

And joy in every breath,

I cannot tell how terrible

The mystery of death.

But now, the past is bright to me,

And all the future clear,

For 't is my faith, that after death

We still shall linger here. J. H. PERKINS.

LESSON CCXXVII.

NIGHT.

NIGHT is the time for rest:

How sweet, when labors close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose!

Stretch the tired limbs and lay the head

Upon our own delightful bed!

Night is the time for dreams,

The gay romance of life;

When truth that is, and truth that seems,

Blend in fantastic strife;

Ah! visions less beguiling far,

Than waking dreams by daylight are!

Night is the time for toil;

To plow the classic field,
Intent to find the buried spoil

Its wealthy furrows yield;
Till all is ours that sages taught,
That poets sang, or heroes wrought.

Night is the time to weep;

To wet with unseen tears

Those graves of memory, where sleep
The joys of other years;

Hopes that were angels in their birth,
But perished young, like things of earth!

Night is the time to watch;

On ocean's dark expanse, To hail the Pleiades, or catch

The full moon's earliest glance, That brings unto the homesick mind All we have loved and left behind.

Night is the time for care;

Brooding on hours misspent,
To see the specter of despair
Come to our lonely tent;

Like Brutus 'mid his slumbering host,
Startled by Cæsar's stalwort ghost.

Night is the time to muse;

Then from the eye the soul

Takes flight, and, with expanding views,

Beyond the starry pole,

Descries, athwart the abyss of night,

The dawn of uncreated light.

Night is the time to pray;

Our Savior oft withdrew
To desert mountains far away:
So will his followers do;

Steal from the throng to haunts untrod,
And hold communion there with God.

Night is the time for death;

When all around is peace,

Calmly to yield the weary breath,
From sin and suffering cease;

Think of Heaven's bliss, and give the sign

To parting friends :-such death be mine!

J. MONTGOMERY.

LESSON CCXXVIII.

SLEEP.DEATH.-ETERNITY.

SLEEP, gentle sleep!

Sleep.

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hushed with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lulled with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,

In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case or a common 'larum bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,

And in the visitation of the winds,