For thou hast taught it-though 't is erring, even

So it will own thy power, its crimes shall be forgiven.

Oh, holy Penitence! apply that power

Unto our spirits in their parting hour:

And when at length thine office shall be o'er;
When this fair world, and Time shall be no more,
Shalt thou in safety lead the multitude

That thou hast rescued, to the source of Good!
To Heaven and Mercy shalt thy charge resign;
And then-and only then, shalt thou decline;
Lost in the Light that not on earth could glow,

And ending with the cause that brought thee forth below!

THE OLD GREY STONE.

All things perish,

Save that which cannot die-the immortal spirit!
And should we fix the trust of deathless things
On those that pass away?

THE old grey stone! the old grey stone!

I know not why I love to sit

For hours, in silence and alone,

In the church-yard, and gaze on it.

There are fair monuments around,

This is the only one unknown;

Yet none can waken thoughts profound, As can the old grey stone!

I wander near it, when the dew

Of morn is dripping from the eaves, And the church window glistens through Its curtain of green ivy leaves.

The marble shines, when o'er its white,

Smooth surface is the sunlight thrown; But oh! I love, though not so bright,

The nameless old grey stone !

'Tis but a fragment of a tomb,

Spared when the rest was cleared away;

Its sculpture gone-the name of whom

It covered perished in decay;

But though it bears nor name, nor date,
I have wild fancies of my own,

And I do love to contemplate

The shattered old grey stone!

I love to think,- Perchance some head

Of peerless beauty there may rest,

That monument perhaps was laid

Upon a fair and lovely breast!

And even while I gaze, perchance
Some spotless spirit looketh down,
And casts its pure celestial glance
Upon the old grey stone!

If such things be, what vanity

This earth and all its things must seem

To those who dwell in bliss on high,

Whose name on earth is but a dream!

And while we strive, with care and pains,

To leave a name when we are gone,

May we remember what remains

Of that sepulchral stone!

THE DOVE FROM THE ARK.

"THE ark is resting on the earth

That the waters covereth o'er,

Then go, thou trembling dove, go forth,

And above its bosom soar."

The dove went forth on her pinions fair,

Across the waters wide;

And now she cleft the sunless air,

And now she swept the tide.

And all day long her form around,
Like a star, was seen to shoot;

Yet, on the pathless waves she found

No rest for her weary foot.