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What plummet may the Present sound?
Who promises a future heaven?

Or glad, or grieved,

Oppressed, relieved,
In blackest night, or brightest day,

Still pours the flood

Of golden good,
And more than heart-full fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I possess

No petty province, but the whole; What's mine alone is mine far less Than treasure shared by every soul.

Talk not of store,

Millions or more, -
Of values which the purse may hold, -

But this divine !

I own the mine
Whose grains outweigh a planet's gold.

I have a stake in every star,

In every beam that fills the day ;
All hearts of men my coffers are,
My ores arterial tides convey ;

The fields, the skies,

And sweet replies Of thought to thought are my gold duft, —

The oaks, the brooks,

And speaking looks
Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust.

Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow

For him who lives above all years,
Who all-immortal makes the Now,
And is not ta’en in Time's arrears :

His life's a hymn

The seraphim
Might hark to hear or help to sing,

And to his soul

The boundless whole Its bounty all doth daily bring.

“ All mine is thine," the sky-soul saith :

“ The wealth I am, must thou become : Richer and richer, breath by breath, Immortal gain, immortal room!”

And since all his

Mine also is,
Life's gift outruns my fancies far,

And drowns the dream

In larger stream,
As morning drinks the morning star.

D. A. Wason.

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HE night was made for cooling shade,

For filence, and for sleep ;
And when I was a child, I laid
My hands upon my breast, and prayed,

And sank to flumbers deep.
Childlike, as then, I lie to-night,
And watch my lonely cabin-light.

Each movement of the swaying lamp ·

Shows how the vessel reels,
And o'er her deck the billows tramp,
And all her timbers ftrain and cramp

With every shock she feels ;
It starts and shudders, while it burns,
And in its hinged socket turns.

Now swinging flow, and flanting low,

It almost level lies :

And yet I know, while to and fro
I watch the seeming pendule go

With restless fall and rise,
The steady shaft is still upright,
Poising its little globe of light.

O hand of God! O lamp of peace !

O promise of my soul !
Though weak and tossed, and ill at ease
Amid the roar of smiting seas

The ship's convulfive roll —
I own, with love and tender awe,
Yon perfect type of faith and law.

A heavenly trust my spirit calms —

My soul is filled with light ;
The ocean sings his solemn psalms;
The wild winds chant; I cross my palms ;

Happy, as if to-night,
Under the cottage roof again,
I heard the soothing summer rain.

7. T. Trowbridge.


Why children ask Thy peace;

TE ask for Peace, O Lord !

Thy children
Not what the world calls rest,

That toil and care should cease,
That through bright sunny hours

Calm Life should feet away,
And tranquil night should fade

In smiling day, -
It is not for such Peace that we would pray.

We ask for Peace, O Lord!

Yet not to stand secure,
Girt round with iron Pride,

Contented to endure :
Crushing the gentle strings,

That human hearts should know,
Untouched by others' joys

Or others' woe;
Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.

We ask Thy Peace, O Lord !

Through storm, and fear, and strife,
To light and guide us on,

Through a long struggling life :

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