THE WARNING VOICE. And yet, a sad and solemn thought intrudes upon my bliss,— Why, while around on every hand far worthier ones I see Condemn'd to tread life's sterile wastes, bloom flowers like these for me? "Wherefore?"—a spirit answers me:-"Thine early hopes were marr'd, "But, oh! He will not always strive!-Then, ere the day be spent, And night-a long dread night-steal on, repent, vain man, repent! Lest, when the vineyard's Lord shall come, and still no fruit be found, He say, • Cut down this barren tree!—why cumbereth it the ground?'” W. H. HARRISON. Human Life. BEHOLD, How short a span Was long enough, of old, To measure out the life of man! In those well-temper'd days, his time was then How SOON, Our new-born light Attains to full-aged noon! And this, how soon, to gray-hair'd night! FRANCIS QUARLES. A Mother's Dirge over her Child. BRING me flowers all young and sweet, Bring me the rosemary, whose breath Bring cypress from some sunless spot, That I may strew them o'er thy bier, With long-drawn sigh and gushing tear! Oh, what upon this earth doth prove So steadfast as a mother's love! Oh what on earth can bring relief, Or solace, to a mother's grief! No more, my baby, shalt thou lie With drowsy smile, and half-shut eye, Pillow'd upon my fostering breast, Serenely sinking into rest! A MOTHER'S DIRGE OVER HER CHILD. The grave must be thy cradle now; The wild-flowers o'er thy breast shall grow, No taint of earth, no thought of sin, E'er dwelt thy stainless breast within; Yea! from mine arms thy soul hath flown Methought when years had roll'd away, The boy-the youth-the man in thee! But thou hast past! for ever gone To leave me childless and alone, Like Rachel pouring tear on tear, Farewell, my child, the dews shall fall At noon and evening o'er thy pall; Revives, upon thy turf appear. The two leaved doors slide slow apart, before the eastern screen, Robed in his sacerdotal vest, a silvery headed man, And fervently that hour I pray'd, that from the mighty scroll, |