Who stands in happiness pre-eminent? To guide the currents of his boundless love. Now wide o'er nature has the Muse her glance Turned rapid, and discovered nought but scenes Of blooming, rich, unfathomable joy. The higher still she soars, the deeper dives, Benevolence reigns o'er all. But who shall tell What sounds of ravishment! The touch, taste, smell, In such harmonious movements as create Her quickening energies. But should her hand BENEVOLENCE OF MAN TO INFERIOR ANIMALS. 309 THE BENEVOLENCE OF THE GOOD MAN EXTENDS WHAT soil or clime, or barrier raised by pride, It freely springs. Expanding wide it spreads Ye finny nations, in your streams and lakes EDWARD CARRINGTON. VILLAGE BELLS. Он, merry are the village bells that sound with soothing chime From the dim old tower, grown gray beneath the shadowy touch of time; And gaily are they borne along upon the summer air, Telling of bridal happiness to the youthful and the fair; They give a murmur of delight to earth, and sky, and seas, That mingles with the running streams, and floats upon the breeze. Tis past, the bridal glee is past, those echoing peals are o'er; But the sweet, the holy Sabbath comes-we hear them now once more, With a message from the heavens of love, a voice that speaks to all; Unto the temple of our God, unto His shrine they call. Whether your home's in halls of state, or by the lowly dells, Come forth and listen to the sounds of the hallowed Sabbath bells! Ye tuneful records, yours it is to watch the pace of time, And mark the footfalls of each year with deep and soothing chime; Coming at midnight's silent hour, when all is dim and drear, 'Tis yours to breathe the last farewell of the sad expiring year; And while we bid its hopes and fears, its fleeting hours adieu. 'Tis yours to hail with cheerful voice the birthday of the new. VILLAGE BELLS. 311 And yet once more your music breaks upon my listening ear, Though not the gaily sounding notes we love so well to hear; Changed is your message to the heart, your joyous tone is fled; Ye speak to us of buried hopes, a requiem for the dead! Some home to-day is desolate, a soul from earth is free. Mortal, the knell thou hearest now full soon may toll for thee! O changeful bells, that swell'd but now the tide of human bliss, What ministers of grief ye seem, in such an hour as this! Say, is your knell a sorrowing one, for the lovely doomed to die, Youth's early blush upon their cheek, its radiance in their eye? Or do ye mourn in mockery for the beings frail as fair, Whose lives, like golden evening clouds, have melted into air? Yet such, alas, is human life; woe for the haughty breath! To-day in health and power 'tis raised, to-morrow stilled in death. One voice proclaims our joy and grief, our wishes, hopes and fears; The eye that brightly beams to-day, to-morrow dims with tears. A few short years, a few brief suns, in earthly homes we dwell, Then life with all its dreams shall be but as that passing bell. CAROLINE F. ORNE. LABOUR. Ho! ye who at the anvil toil, While answering to the hammer's ring, Oh! while ye feel 'tis hard to toil To have no work to do. Ho! ye who till the stubborn soil, But while ye feel 'tis hard to toil To have no work to do. Ho! ye who plough the sea's blue field- There lies a yawning grave, Like fiends of fury rave- Oh! while ye feel 'tis hard to toil To have no work to do. |