LOVE AND DISCIPLINE.

SINCE in a land not barren still,
Because thou dost thy grace distil,
My lot is fall'n, blest be thy will!

And since these biting frosts but kill Some tares in me, which choke or spill That seed thou sow'st, blest be thy skill!

Blest be thy dew, and blest thy frost,
And happy I to be so crost,
And cured by crosses at thy cost.

The dew doth cheer what is distrest;
The frosts ill weeds nip and molest;
In both thou work'st unto the best.

THEY ARE ALL GONE.

THEY are all gone into the world of light,
And I alone sit lingering here!
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.

It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
After the sun's remove.

I see them walking in an air of glory,

Whose light doth trample on my days,— My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.

O holy hope, and high humility!

High as the heavens above!

These are your walks, and you have showed

them me

To kindle my cold love.

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They are all gone.

Dear, beauteous Death, the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere but in the dark,
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!

He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know

At first sight if the bird be flown;
But what fair dell or grove he sings in now
That is to him unknown.

And yet, as angels, in some brighter dreams,
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted
themes,

And into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a tomb,

Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that locked her up gives

room,

She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under thee,

Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty!

They are all gone.

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Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill

My perspective still as they pass;

Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.

VANISHED.

THE Voice which I did more esteem

Than music in her sweetest key, Those eyes which unto me did seem

More comfortable than the day, Those now by me, as they have been, Shall never more be heard or seen; But what I once enjoyed in them

Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

All earthly comforts vanish thus ;
So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,
May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise
If present mercies we despise ;
Or mind not how there may be made
A thankful use of what we had.