Whose omen 't is, and sign.

Wilt thou not hope thy heart to know
What rainbows teach, and sunsets show?
Verdict which accumulates

From lengthening scroll of human fates,
Voice of earth to earth returned,
Prayers of saints that inly burned, -
Saying, What is excellent,
As God lives, is permanent;
Hearts are dust, hearts' loves remain ;
Heart's love will meet thee again.
Revere the Maker; fetch thine eye
Up to his style, and manners of the sky.
Not of adamant and gold
Built he heaven stark and cold;
No, but a nest of bending reeds,
Flowering grass and scented weeds;
Or like a traveller's fleeing tent,
Or bow above the tempest bent;
Built of tears and sacred flames,
And virtue reaching to its aims;
Built of furtherance and pursuing,
Not of spent deeds, but of doing.
Silent rushes the swift Lord
Through ruined systems still restored,
Broadsowing, bleak and void to bless,
Plants with worlds the wilderness;
Waters with tears of ancient sorrow
Apples of Eden ripe to-morrow.
House and tenant go to ground,
Lost in God, in Godhead found."

"Ha! bind him on his back! Look ! - as Prometheus in my picture here!

Quick-or he faints !-stand with the cordial near!

Now-bend him to the rack! Press down the poisoned links into his flesh !

And tear agape that healing wound afresh !

"So let him writhe! How long Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now!

What a fine agony works upon his brow! Ha! gray-haired, and so strong! How fearfully he stifles that short moan! Gods! if I could but paint a dying groan

How like a mounting devil in the heart
Rules the unreined ambition! Let it once
But play the monarch, and its haughty
brow

Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought
And unthrones peace forever. Putting on
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring
Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip,
We look upon our splendor and forget
The thirst of which we perish! Yet hath
life

Many a falser idol. There are hopes Promising well; and love-touched dreams for some;

And passions, many a wild one; and fair schemes

For gold and pleasure - yet will only this

Balk not the soul— Ambition, only, gives, Even of bitterness, a beaker full! Friendship is but a slow-awaking dream, Troubled at best; Love is a lamp un