A book of English poetry; ed. by T. Shorter

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DBAR, be&uteoua death-the jewel of the jWit-
Shining nowhere but in the dark!.
What myateriea do lie beyond thy duat,
Could man outlook that mark!

He that bath found some ftedgecl bird'e nest may know,
At fint ai~ht, if the bird be 1lown ;
But what fau.r dell or gro"Ve he einga in now,
That ia to him unk:Down.

And yet, aa angels, in some brighter dreama,
Call to the soul when man dot.h sleep ;
So aome atrangethoughta tran.acend our wonted themes,.
And into glory peep.

Fatl1erl disperse, the miata which blot and iill
My perspective still aa they paaa ;
Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I eball need no glaaa.

How many bl8118ed groupe thie hour are bending,
Through England's primroee meadow-path"' their w~y
Towa.rcla spire and tower, midst abady alma MCending,
Whence tlie sweet chimes proclaim the ballow'd day 1
The halls, from old heroic ages gray,
Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlete low-
Send out their inmates in a happy 1low,
Like a freed vernal stream. I may.not trend
With them those pathways-to the feverish bed
Of sioknees bound ; yet, 0 my God I I blees
Thy mercy, tn.at with Sabbath-peace hath 1ill'd
My cnaaten'd heart, and all ita tbrobbinga still'd
To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulnees!
MM. :HauNs:



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