All's for the best ! — unbiass'd, unbounded, Providence reigns from the East to the West; And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded, Hope, and be happy, that

All's for the best!

TUPPER,

WH

93. MUSIC.

HEN through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,

Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,-
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain!
Wakening thoughts that long have slept
Kindling former smiles again

In faded eyes that long have wept !

Like the gale that sighs along
Beds of oriental flowers,

Is the grateful voice of song

That once was heard in happier hours;
Fill'd with balm, the gale sighs on,

Though the flowers have sunk in death;
So when pleasure's dream is gone,
Its memory lives in music's breath.

Music! oh, how faint, how weak,
Language fades before thy spell!

Why should feeling ever speak,

When thou canst breathe her soul so well?

Friendship's balmy words may feign;
Love's are e'en more false than they;
Oh! 'tis only music's strain

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray !

T. MOORE.

94. MY LIBRARY.

MY days amid the dead are past;

Åround me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the dead; with them
I live in long-past years;

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with a humble mind.

My hopes are with the dead; anon
My place with them will be;

And I with them shall travel on
Through all futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

SOUTHEY.

95. TRUST IN GOD'S PROVIDENCE.

[MATTHEW Vi. 25-30]

THINK not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears;
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?

Behold! and look away your low despair-
See the light tenants of the barren air :
To them nor stores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky:
He hears their gay and their distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace;
Observe the various vegetable race;

They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow;
Yet see how warm they blush! how bright they glow!
What regal vestments can with theirs compare!
What king so shining! or what queen so fair!

L

If ceaseless thus the fowls of heaven He feeds; If o'er the fields such lucid robes He spreads; Will He not care for you, ye faithless, say? Is He unwise? or are ye less than they?

THOMSON.

96. THE TRUMPET.

THE trumpet's voice hath roused the land;
Light up the beacon pyre!

A hundred hills have seen the brand,
And waved the sign of fire:

A hundred banners on the breeze

Their gorgeous folds have cast-
And hark!-was that the sound of seas?
-A king to war went past.

The chief is arming in his hall,
The peasant by his hearth:

The mourner hears the thrilling call,
And rises from the earth:
The mother on her first-born son
Looks with a boding eye-

They come not back, though all be won,
Whose young hearts leap so high.

The bard hath ceased his song, and bound
The falchion to his side;

E'en for the marriage-altar crown'd,

The lover quits his bride.

And all this haste, and change, and fear,
By earthly clarion spread!

How will it be when kingdoms hear

The blast that wakes the dead?

MRS. HEMANS.

97. THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILIES

THE noon was shady, and soft airs

THE

Swept Ouse's silent tide,

When, 'scaped from literary cares,
I wander'd by its side.

My dog, now lost in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,

Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.

It was the time when Ouse display'd
Its lilies newly blown ;
Their beauties I intent survey'd,
And one I wish'd my own.

With cane extended far, I sought
To steer it close to land:

But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.

Beau marked my unsuccessful pains
With fix'd, considerate face,
And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.