“THERE is strength

Deep-bedded in our hearts, of which we reck

But little, till the shafts of heaven have pierc'd
Its fragile dwelling."

"LET him flee

Who holds no deep asylum in his breast,
Wherein to shelter from the scoffs of men."

"WHEN with her bright wings glory shadoweth thee, Forget not him who coldly sleeps beneath."

"YET 'tis a weary task to school the heart
Ere years and griefs have tam'd its fiery spirit,
Into that still and passive fortitude

Which is but learn'd from suffering."

"THE parting soul doth gather all her fires,
Around her, all her glorious hopes and dreams
And burning aspirations, to illume

The shadowy dimness of th' untrodden path
Which lies before her; and encircled thus,
Awhile she sits in dying eyes, and thence
Sends forth a bright farewell."

"YE come late!

The voice of human praise doth send no echo
Into the world of spirits."

“THE sick, impatient yearning of the heart

For that which is not, and the weary sense

Of that dull void wherewith our hearts have been
Circled by death,
All save remorse!"

- yes all things may be borne !

"YOUTH fades from off our spirit, and the robes Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith

We cloth'd our idols, drop! O bitter hour
When at the crushing of the ideal world,
We start and find men thus!"

FROM HALLOCK.

"SUCH graves as his are pilgrim-shrine
Shrines to no code or creed confin'd,
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind."

"HER robe was like the snow just fallen to earth, Pure from its home in the far winter clouds, As white, as stainless."

"THE visiting angels of our twilight dreams."

"WHAT is man's love? His vows are broke
Even while his parting kiss is warm,
But woman's love all change will mock,
And like the ivy round the oak
Cling closest in the storm."

"We know the only emblem meet,
Of that pure faith the heart adores,
To be a child like thee, whose feet
Are strangers to life's shores."

"His voice their morning music, and his eye The only starlight of their evening sky."

"HER foot was lovliest of remember'd things, Small as a fairy's on a moonlit leaf, Listening the wind-harp's song."

FROM MRS. HEMANS.

"OH Searcher of the Soul! in whose dread sight,
Not the bold guilt alone that mocks the skies,
But the scarce own'd unwhisper'd thought of night,
As a thing written with the sunbeam lies."

"It was a fearful, yet a glorious thing

To hear the hymn of martyrdom, and know
That its glad stream of melody could spring,

Up from the unsounded depths of human woe :

"FOR she had made no deeper love her guest,

'Mid her young spirits dreams than which grows
Between the nurtur'd of the same fond breast,
The shelter'd of one roof, and so it rose

Twin'd in with life."

"Joy for thee trembler !

Thou redeem'd one joy!

Young dove set free."

"YES! I am he that look'd and saw decay

Steal o'er the fair of earth, the ador'd too much,
It is a fearful thing to love what death may touch."

"How dear the image and the thought of those

Before us gone; onr lov'd of early years

Gone where affection's cup hath lost the taste of tears!"

LITTLE THINGS.

"EVERY thing is beautiful, when it is little- little lambs, little birds, little kittens, little children. Little martin-boxes of home, are generally the most happy and cozy; little villages are nearer to being atoms of a shattered Paradise than anything we know of; little fortunes bring the most content, and little hopes the least disappointment. Little words are.

the sweetest to hear; little charities fly farthest, and stay longest on the wing; little lakes are the stillest ; little hearts the fullest; little farms the best tilled; little books the most read, and little songs the dearest loved. Nature thought of this when she made— little pearls, little diamonds, little dews. Agur's is a model prayer, but then it is a little prayer, and the burden of the prayer is for little. The Sermon on the Mount required little time; - but the last dedication discourse was an hour. The Roman said: Veni, vidi, vici — I came saw conquered; but dispatches now-a-days are longer than the battles they tell of. Everybody calls that little they love best on earth. Life is made up of little; death is what remains after all. Day is made up of little beams, and night is glorious with little stars. Multum in parvo · much in little - is the great beauty of all that we love best, hope for most, and remember longest."

AN OLD-FASHIONED PEW.

"A BEDSTEAD of the antique mode
Compact of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphosed into pews,
Which still there ancient nature keep,

By lodging folks disposed to sleep."

Horace Smith.

THOUGHTS FROM PERCIVAL.

"IT is the noon of night. The stars look faint
With their long watching, and the slumbering earth
Heaves not a breath. The very air is still.
The waters hush their voices, and the leaf

Hangs silent in the woods. No living thing
Looks on this sleep of nature. I alone
Sit like a sentinel, and feel how calm,
How beautiful is night.”

"HE sank away

With scarce a visible token, like a breath
Of supreme wind, when it has spent itself,
And blows so faintly, that the feathery leaves
Of the mimosa only tell of it."

"'Tis a mockery

Too poor for tears, and yet too sad for smiles."

"OUR heavy year forbids the pensive spirit
To make itself a song-bird."

"SEE the day takes its farewell, like the word
Of a departing friend, or the last tone
Of hallowed music in a minster's aisles."

EXTRACTS FROM PASCAL.

"THERE are some who admire no greatness but that of the world; as if there were none in the mind of man; others admire only that of the mind, as if there were not a greatness infinitely more sublime in heavenly wisdom."

"OUR religion, awing those whom it justifies, and comforting those whom it condemns, so wisely tempereth hope with fear, that it abases us infinitely more than unassisted reason could do, yet without driving us to despair, while it exalts us infinitely more than the pride of our nature could do, yet without rendering us vain."