Light.

NIGHT is the time for rest,
How sweet when labours 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 day-light are.

Night is the time for toil,

To plough 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 finish'd young, like things on 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 into the home-sick mind
All we have loved, and left behind.

Night is the time for care,
Brooding on hours mispent ;
To see the spectre of despair
Come to our lonely tent;

Like Brutus, 'midst his slumb'ring host
Startled by Cæsar's stalwart 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 Saviour oft withdrew To desert mountains far away; So will his followers do;

Steal through the throng to haunts untrod, And hold communion with their 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!

Friends.

FRIEND after friend departs,

Who hath not lost a friend? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end; Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying none were blest.

Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond this vale of death,
There surely is some blessed clime,
Where life is not a breath;
Nor life's affections, transient fire,
Whose sparks fly upward to expire.

There is a world above,

Where parting is unknown; A whole eternity of love,

Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying here, Translated to that happy sphere.

Thus star by star declines,

Till all are passed away,

As morning high and higher shines
To pure and perfect day;

Nor sink those stars in empty night,

They hide themselves in Heaven's own light.

Choice of Seasons.

WHO loves not spring's voluptuous hours,
The carnival of birds and flowers?
Yet who would choose, however dear,
That spring should revel all the year?
Who loves not summer's splendid reign,
The bridal of the earth and main?
Yet who would choose, however bright,
A dog-day noon without a night?
Who loves not autumn's joyous round,
When corn, and wine, and oil abound?
Yet who would choose, however gay,
A year of unrenewed decay?

Who loves not winter's awful form?
The sphere-born music of the storm?
Yet who would choose, how grand soever,
The shortest day to last for ever?

Youthful Aspirations.

HIGHER, higher will we climb,
Up the mount of glory,

That our names may live through time,
In our country's story;

Happy, when her welfare calls,
He who conquers, he who falls.

Deeper, deeper let us toil

In the mines of knowledge;
Nature's wealth and learning's spoil,
Win from school and college;
Delve we there for richer gems
Than the stars of diadems.

Onward, onward may we press,
Through the path of duty,
Virtue is true happiness,

Excellence true beauty;
Minds are of celestial birth,
Make we then a heaven of earth.

Closer, closer let us knit

Hearts and hands together,
Where our fireside comforts sit,
In the wildest weather:

Oh! they wander wide, who roam
For the joys of life from home.

Nearer, dearer bands of love,
Draw our souls in union,
To our father's home above,
To the saint's communion:
Thither ev'ry hope ascend.
There may all our troubles end.