Not with the trifler gay,

To whom life seems but sunshine on the wave,

Not with the empty idler of the day;

My lot be with the wise and

grave.

Not with the jesting fool,

Who knows not what to sober truth is due, Whose words fly out without or aim or rule; My lot be with the wise and true.

Not with the man of dreams,

In whose bright words no truth nor wisdom lies, Dazzling the fervent youth with mystic gleams; My lot be with the simply wise.

With them I'd walk each day,

From them time's solemn lessons would I learn ; That false from true, and true from false I may Each hour more patiently discern.

DISAPPOINTMENT.

"Ecce mundus turbat et amatur, quid si tranquillus esset." AUGUSTINE.

TRUST not these seas again,

Tho' smooth and fair;
Trust not these waves again,
Shipwreck is there.

Trust not these stars again,

Tho' bright and fair;

Trust not these skies again,
Tempest is there.

Trust not that breeze again,

Gentle and fair;

Trust not these clouds again,

Lightning is there.

Trust not that isle again,

Flower-crowned and fair;

Trust not its rocks again,

Earthquake is there.

Trust not these flowers again,

Fragrant and fair ;

Trust not that rose again,

Blighting is there.

Trust not that earth again,

Verdant and fair;

Trust not its fields again,

Winter is there.

Trust not these hopes again,

Sunny and fair;

Trust not that smile again,

Peril is there.

Trust not this world again,

Smiling and fair;

Trust not its sweets again,

Wormwood is there.

Trust not its love again,

Sparkling and fair;

Trust not its joy again,

Sorrow is there.

M

THE TIME TO MEET.

'Tis autumn now;

And as we part,

The dry brown leaf

Is rustling o'er the ground;

Making the sadness sadder, and the cloud
Of the long farewell deeper in its gloom.

Not thus let us meet;

Mid falling leaves

And sere, frost-stricken flowers;

But when the leaf is budding in its freshness,

And the rich blossom putting forth its gladness. Not thus let us meet;

It is too sad;

But when the buried verdure

Is coming up to meet the joyous sun,

When the new spring looks round upon the hills, Full of youth's buoyant promise and bright song, Then let us meet.

Yes, when the spring-breeze blows,

And the gay garden blooms,

And the wide forest waves with budding green,
And the freed streamlet warbles thro' the broom,
And the clear air takes up the happy note
Of skylark singing to the rosy dawn,

Then let us meet;

And meeting, cheer each other's weary heart
With the dear hope of everlasting spring,

And the fair land that spreads beneath the slopes
Of the eternal hills,

Where nothing dies;

Where nothing fades ;

But all is without ending or decay,

The sky, the sun, the light,

The peace, the truth, the love,

And above all, the joy!