The sun set in a fearful hour,

The stars might well grow

dim.

When this mortality had power

So to o'ershadow HIM!

That He who gave man's breath, might know

The very depths of human woe.

He proved them all! the doubt, the strife,

The faint perplexing dread,

The mists that hang o'er parting life,
All gather'd round his head;

And the Deliverer knelt to pray-
Yet pass'd it not, that cup, away!

It pass'd not-though the stormy wave
Had sunk beneath his tread;

It pass'd not-though to him the grave

Had yielded up its dead.

But there was sent him from on high

A gift of strength for man to die.

Thro' Him-thro' Him, that path who trod

Save, or we perish, Son of God!

Hark, hark! the parting signal.

[Prison attendants enter.

Fare-thee-well!

O thou unutterably loved, farewell!

Let our hearts bow to God!

Herbert.

One last embrace

On earth the last!We have eternity

For love's communion yet!-Farewell-farewell!—

[She is led out.

'Tis o'er the bitterness of death is past!

FLOWERS AND MUSIC IN A ROOM OF

SICKNESS.

Once, when I look'd along the laughing earth,
Up the blue heavens, and through the middle air,
Joyfully ringing with the sky-lark's song,

I wept! and thought how sad for one so young
To bid farewell to so much happiness.

But Christ hath call'd me from this lower world,
Delightful though it be.

WILSON.

Apartment in an English Country-House.-LILIAN

reclining, as sleeping on a couch.

Her Mother

watching beside her. Her Sister enters with

flowers.

Mother. Hush, lightly tread! still tranquilly she

sleeps,

As, when a babe, I rock'd her on my heart.

I've watch'd, suspending e'en my breath, in fear
To break the heavenly spell. Move silently!

And oh! those flowers! dear Jessy, bear them hence—
Dost thou forget the passion of quick tears

That shook her trembling frame, when last we brought

The roses to her couch? Dost thou not know

What sudden longings for the woods and hills,
Where once her free steps moved so buoyantly,

These leaves and odours with strange influence wake
In her fast-kindled soul?

Jessy.

Oh! she would pine,

Were the wild scents and glowing hues withheld,
Mother! far more than now her spirit yearns

For the blue sky, the singing-birds and brooks,
And swell of breathing turf, whose lightsome spring
Their blooms recall.

Lilian,(raing herself.) Is that my Jessy's voice?

It woke me not, sweet mother! I had lain
Silently, visited by waking dreams,

Yet conscious of thy brooding watchfulness,

Long ere I heard the sound. Hath she brought flowers?
Nay, fear not now thy fond child's waywardness,
My thoughtful mother!-in her chasten'd soul
The passion-colour'd images of life,

Which, with their sudden startling flush awoke
So oft those burning tears, have died away;
And night is there-still, solemn, holy night,
With all her stars, and with the gentle tune
Of many fountains, low and musical,

By day unheard.

Mother.

And wherefore night, my child?

Thou art a creature all of life and dawn,

And from thy couch of sickness yet shalt rise,

And walk forth with the day-spring.

Lilian.

Hope it not !

Dream it no more, my mother!—there are things

Known but to God, and to the parting soul,

Which feels his thrilling summons.

But my words

Too much o'ershadow those kind loving eyes.