The sea of ambition is tempest tost,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam;
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,
Then look to the light of home ;-
And there like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright;
For never, till shining on thy shroud,
Can be quenched its holy light.
The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name;
But the heart ne'er felt its ray;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim:
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And how cold and dim those beams must be,
Should life's wretched wanderer come!
But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee,
Then turn to the light of home.
Blooms there a rose without a thorn?.
Go, search creation round,
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
There shall not one be found.
Sweet they may be, and fair, and bright,
All life, and loveliness, and light;
The leaves may be green as the mermaid's locks, When she wreathes them with shells on the coral rocks;
And the beautiful flowers may far outvie
The golden tints of the sunset sky;
And far more fragrant their breath may be
Than the spicy gales of Araby;
But be they ever so bright and fair,
There's many a thorn in ambush there.
And oft across the waste of life,
The few frail joys that flee,
Seem thus with fragrant beauty rife,
From shade of sorrow free,
And lighten on our gloomiest hours,
Like such a rose among the flowers.
But let their beauties be all forgot;
Oh! think of the thorns, and touch them not.
For the hand that plucks the fair false weed,
Though it gain the flower, is sure to bleed.
And they may be sweet and fair to-night,
But all is over by morning light,
And withered and shed are the leaves so fair,
And the roses are gone, but the thorns are there.
A Story of Braven.
BEFORE a lowland cottage,
With climbing roses gay,
I stood one summer's eve, to watch
Two children at their play.
All round the garden walks they ran,
Filling the air with glee,
Till they were tired, and sat them down
Beneath an old oak tree.
They were silent for a little space,
And then the boy began :-
"I wonder, sister dear, if I
Shall ever be a man.
"I almost think I never shall,
For often, in my sleep,
I dream that I am dying-
-Nay, sister, do not weep!
"It is a joyful thing to die;
For, though this world is fair,
I see a lovelier in my dreams,
And I fancy I am there.
"I fancy I am taken there
As soon as I have died;
And I roam through all the pleasant place, With an angel by my side.
"To that bright world I long to go;
I would not linger here,
But for my gentle mother's sake,
And yours, my sister dear!
"And, when I read my book to her,
Or when I play with you,
I quite forget that glorious land,
And the blessed angel too.
"But oft, when I am weary
Of my books and of my play,
Those pleasant dreams come back again,
And steal my heart away.
"And I wish that you, sweet sister!
And my mother dear, and I,
Could shut our eyes upon this world,
And, all together, die."
Then spake his fair-haired sister,
In tones serene and low :
"Oh, if Heaven is such a pleasant place, Dear brother, let us go!
"Our mother wept when our father died,
Till her bright eyes were dim;
And I know she longs to go to heaven,
That she may be with him.
"So let us all together go!"
-The thoughtful boy replied :
"Ah, no! we cannot go to heaven, Until that we have died.
"And sister, we must be content
Upon this earth to stay,
Till the blessed Saviour, Jesus Christ,
Shall call our souls away!"
Before the next year's roses came,
That gentle call was given,
And the mother, and her two sweet babes,
Were, all of them, in Heaven.
A Very Young Lady's Choughts About Cime.
"Out upon Time!"-Lord Byron.
"TIME! a little moment stay"-
But he flieth on alway;
Waiting for the will of none,
Ever, ever hurrying on.
Swifter than the autumn wind,
Or the glances of the mind,
Or the lightning, or the river,
Flying, flying on for ever.
Off he started on the morn
When the heavens and earth were born;
For he had a race to run
With the planets, round the sun;
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