Thou dweller with the Unseen, who hast explored The immense unknown-thou to whom Death and Heaven Are mysteries no more, whose soul is stored With knowledge for which men have vainly striven, Beloved child! oh when shall I lie down With thee beneath fair trees that cannot fade? When from the immortal rivers quench my thirst? Life's morning passeth on, Noon speeds, and cometh the dim evening's shade And night-anon is every cloud dispersed, And o'er the hills of Heaven the Eternal Day shall burst! ON THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD. BARRY CORNWALL. A YEAR—an age shall fade away, For ever; and if joy or pain The only thing, save poet's rhyme, HYMN. RIGHT REV. REGINALD HEBER, D.D. By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Lo such the child whose early feet By cool Siloam's shady rill The lily must decay; The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away. And soon, too soon, the wintry hour Of man's maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, And stormy passion's rage! O Thou, whose infant feet were found Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned, Dependent on Thy bounteous breath, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, TO K. H. J. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. OH sweet new-comer to the changeful earth, And wert erewhile by human parents blest, Yet nothing find that thou hast loved before, But well for us that there is something yet The brook-like gurglings, murmuring after meaning, |