THE ENGLISH BURYING-GROUND AT ROME. "SOLACE OF SONG." "Although my house be not so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure; for this is all my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow."-2 Sam. xxiii. 5.* WILL Rome then yield a place of rest To those who will not own Or kiss her priestly throne? She will she points a plot of ground, Enough! we hail the outer ward, May well our bones protect; Shall rise for his elect. Inscription on one of the tombstones. The pyramid of Caius Cestus. 'Tis meet, since we refuse to share Nor heed her ban, nor ask her prayer, It matters not-they sleep as sweet, We sought with her in life no part; To point the source of living day, Our guide (THE LIFE, THE TRUTH, THE WAY,) We owned no other name. A long array we may not boast Of deeds of merit bright; Of conquests won o'er hell's proud host, By man's unaided might; One work is ours, more choice than gold, FAITH *-faith in Christ, by which enrolled, We crowd within the Shepherd's fold, No marble from Sicilia brought, Nor monumental bust, Nor form by skilful chisel wrought, May press the mouldering dust; John vi. 29. As forth we came, we sink to earth, We have whereon to trust. For though our house is not with Him, Our service stained, our graces dim, And faint each pure desire, Upon the heart his broad seal prest, We know who rightful claims our faith, Nor heed Earth, Hell, or tyrant Death, Without the gate the Saviour bled, We thank thee, Rome, for this green field, We thank thee more, thou would'st not yield On thy bent brow there is a sign, Though fiercely flushed with harlot-wine, Heb. xiii. 12, 13: Far rather would we rest our dead, Where spring nor summer bloom, Than ask of thee when life is fled, The same proud common tomb. When on thy crown the death-bolts lower, THE MYRTLE. "MORAL OF FLOWERS." "In countries where it grows wild, it sometimes is found blooming among rocks; and its delicate beauty, when contrasted with the ruggedness of its abode, seems to derive an additional charm." YES, take thy station here, Thou flower so pale and fair! That I from thee may sweetest lessons borrow ; Methinks, which suits thee well The lingering hours of languishment and sorrow. The cleft rock is thy home; Yet sweetly dost thou bloom, E'en while the threatening winds are round thee swelling; And where's the pamper'd flower Can richer fragrance shower, Than thou, fair blossom, from thy storm-wrought dwelling? Say, then, though pale decay Wear youth and health away, Shall sighs alone this troubled breast be heaving? Which to this couch of pain Has bound me long, for 'tis of Mercy's weaving. |