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POETRY

THE IVY.

BY BERNARD BARTON.
Dost thou not love, in the season of spring,

. To twine thee a flowery wreath ;
Aud to see the beautiful birch-tree filing

Its shade on the grass beneath ?
Its glossy leaf, and its silver stem,
Ob dost thou not love to look on them?
And dost thou not love, when leaves are greenest,

And summer has just begun,
When in the silence of moonlight thou leanest,

Where glittering waters run,
To see, by that gentle and peaceful beam,
The willow bend down to the sparkling stream ?
And oh! in a lovely autumnal day,

When leaves are changing before thee,
Do not nature's charms, as they slowly decay,

Shed their own mild influence o'er thee?"
And hast thou not felt, as thou stood'st to gaze,
The touching lesson such scene displays ?
It should be thus at an age like thine ;

And it has been thus with me,
When the freshness of feeling and heart were mine,

As they never more can be ;
Yet think not I ask thee to pity my lot,
Perhaps I see beauty where thou dost not.
Hast thou seen in winter's stormiest day,

The trunk of a blighted oak,
Not dead, but sinking in slow decay,

Beneath time's resistless stroke,
Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown,

And wreath'd it with verdure no longer its own? Perchance thou hast seen that sight, and then,

As I at thy years might do,
Pass'd carelessly by, nor turn'd again,

That scathed wreck to view ;
But now I can draw from that mould'ring tree
Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me.
O smile not, nor think it a worthless thing,

If it be with instruction fraught;
That which will closest and longest cling,

Is alone worth a serious thought!

Should ought be unlovely which thus can shed
Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead ?
Now, in thy youth, beseech of Him,

Who giveth, upbraiding not,
That his light in thy heart become not dim,

And his love be unforgot ;
And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be
Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee!

WHAT IS MAN?

BY MRS. CAROLINE FRY.
Tag bud of this morning, and withered at night,

Like a flower, he dies as he grows;
With lustre delusive he glitters awhile,

And returns to the dust whence he rose.
And ages are going,—and ages are gone,-

And the beings, they saw are no more;
And we carelessly tread o'er a soil that has closed

On all who have trod it before. .
And the grave they inhabit is opened for us,

And soon shall we be where they are,
And bequeath to our children this only behest,

To hasten and follow us there.
And our homes, and our hopes, and our joys, are reservd

For the children of years yet unborn;
And still the same tale shall be told o’er them all,

They lived, they have died, and are gone.

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HUMAN FRAILTY.
Weak and irresolute is man ;

The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends his way.
The bow well bent, and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain;
But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent,

Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart.

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'Tis here the folly of the wise,

Through all his art we view ;
And while bis tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length,

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts bis own.
But ours alone can ne'er prevail,

To reach the distant coast;
The breath of Heaven must swell the sail,

Or all the toil is lost.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN.
Ye objects of sense and enjoyments of time,

Which oft have delighted my heart,
I soon shall exchange you for scenes more sublinie,

And joys that shall never depart.
Thou Lord of the day, and Queen of the night,

To me ye no longer are known ;
I soon shall behold with increasing delight,

A Sun that shall never go down
Ye wonderful orbs that astonish mine eyes,

Your glories recede from my sight:
I soon shall contemplate more beautiful skies,

And stars more transceodently bright.
Ye mountains and valleys, groves, rivers, and plains ;

Thou earth, and thou ocean, adieu ! More permanent mansions, where righteousness reigns,

Present their bright hills to my view.
My lov'd habitation, and garden, adieu !

No longer my footsteps ye greet;.
A mansion celestial stands full in my view,

And paradise welcomes my feet,
My weeping relations, and brethren, and friends,

Whose souls are entwin'd with my own,
Adieu for the present; my spirit ascends

Where friendship immortal is known.
My cares and my labours, my sickness, my pain,

And sorrows, are now at an end ;
The summit of bliss I shall speedily gain,

The height of perfection ascend.

'The night of transgressors shall grieve me no more,

'Midst foes I no longer abide ; My conflict with sin and with sinners are o'er,

With saints I shall ever reside.

The vale of affliction my footsteps here trod,

With trembling, with grief, and with tears, I joyfully quit for the mountain of God;

There! there its bright summit appears! No lurking temptations, defilement, or fear,

Again shall disquiet my breast;
lo Jesu's full image I soon shall appear,

For ever ineffably blest.
My Sabbaths below, ye have been my delight,

And thou, the blest Volume divine;
Ye have guided my footsteps, like stars during night,

Adieu ! my conductors benign!
The Sun that illuinines the region of light

Now shines on mine eyes from above ;
Bit O how transcendently glorious the sight!

My soul is all wonder and love.
Thou tottering seat of disease and of pain,

Adieu ! my dissolving abcde;
But I shall behold and possess thee again,

A beautiful “ building of God.'
Come, Death! when thy cold hands my eye-lids shall

close,
And lay my pale corpse in the tomb;
My soul shall enjoy an eternal repose,

Above in my heavenly home.
But O! what a life, what a rest, what a joy,

Shall I know when I've mounted above ;
Praise, praise shall my triumphing powers emplor!

My God, I shall burn with thy love!

Come, come, my RedEEMER ! this moment release

The soul thou hast bought with thy blood, And bid me ascend the pure regions of peace,

To feast in the smiles of my God!

Printed by T. Cordeux, 14, City-Road, Loudong

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