And Jonathan, the heart
To friendship loyal?

Where hath the Cæsar left His empire splendid? Where Dives' banqueting In sorrow ended?

Say, where is Tully's voice,
In senates burning?
And the wise Stagyrite,
Master of learning?

Such leaders of renown;

Such bygone spaces; Such stately brows of old, Such kingly races ;

Such potentates of earth,
The boast of story:-

One flashing of an eye,
And gone their glory!

How brief a holyday

Man's pomp abideth, And all his pleasure gay A shadow glideth!

Feast of the crawling worm!

Dust to dust crumbled!

Drop of the morning dew!

Be thy pride humbled.

CUR MUNDUS MILITAT?

Even to-morrow lies

Veiled from thy blindness; Crowd thou to-day with deeds Of loving-kindness.

This glory of the flesh,
Which man paradeth,
The Holy Book doth call
A flower that fadeth.

Even as the shrivelled leaf
On the wind sweeping,
So drops the life of man,
To darkness creeping.

Call not thine own whate'er

A moment liveth;

The world shall snatch again

All that it giveth.

Ponder the things above!

There thy heart's treasure!

Happy, who knows to scorn
The low world's pleasure!

WASHBURN.

BITTER REPENTANCE.

Where tears of penance come too late for grace,
As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?

Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet

Through the dark curtains of the world above, Fresh from the stain of crime, nor fear to meet The God whom here she would not learn to love:

Then is there hope for such as die unblest,

That angel wings may waft them to the shore; Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast, Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom's door.

But where is then the stay of contrite hearts?
Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word,

But with the sinner's fear their hope departs,
Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord.

That Name, by which Thy faithful oath is past,
That we should endless be, for joy or woe:-
And if the treasures of Thy wrath could waste,
Thy lovers must their promised Heaven forego.

But ask of elder days, earth's vernal hour,

When in familiar talk God's voice was heard, When at the Patriarch's call the fiery shower Propitious o'er the turf-built shrine appeared.

Watch by our father Isaac's pastoral door,

The birthright sold, the blessing lost and won, Tell, Heaven has wrath that can relent no more, The Grave, dark deeds that cannot be undone.

We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss

For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown; Thus, Esau-like, our Father's blessing miss,

Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown.

Our faded crown, despised and flung aside,

Shall on some brother's brow immortal bloom; No partial hand the blessing may misguide, No flattering fancy change our Monarch's doom:

His righteous doom, that meek,true-hearted Love The everlasting birthright should receive,