WHAT WOULD YE ASK? 121 Live out your little span, on honor's scroll Your names and glorious deeds emblazon high; All aims accomplish, reach the utmost goal For which ye strove-then lay ye down and die ! 'Tis the sure end. When in the funeral urn The grave receiveth all. Within its breast It matters not what they may leave behind; So go we on, still struggling to the tomb; Storm-wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges, Laden with sea-weed from the rocks: From Bermuda's reefs; from edges Of sunken ledges, In some far-off, bright Azore; From Bahama, and the dashing, Silver-flashing Surges of San-Salvador; SEA-WEED. From the tumbling surf, that buries Answering the hoarse Hebrides; And from wrecks of ships, and drifting Spars, uplifting On the desolate, rainy seas ; Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless main; Till in sheltered coves, and reaches All have found repose again. So when storms of wild emotion Strike the ocean Of the poet's soul, ere long From each cave and rocky fastness, In its vastness, Floats some fragment of a song: From the far-off isles enchanted, Heaven has planted With the golden fruit of Truth; Gleams Elysian In the tropic clime of Youth; 123 From the strong Will, and the Endeavour That forever Wrestles with the tides of Fate; From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered, Floating waste and desolate ;— Ever drifting, drifting, drifting On the shifting Currents of the restless heart; Till at length in books recorded, Household words, no more depart. "I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY." BY WILLIAM CUTTER. It is true there are shadows as well as lights, clouds as well as sunshine, thorns as well as roses; but it is a happy world after all.' 'I WOULD not live alway!'-yet 'tis not that here There's nothing to live for, and nothing to love; The cup of life's blessings, though mingled with tears, Is crowned with rich tokens of good from above: And dark though the storms of adversity rise, Though changes dishearten, and dangers appall, Each hath its high purpose, both gracious and wise, And a FATHER's kind providence rules over all. 'I would not live alway!' and yet oh, to die! With a shuddering thrill how it palsies the heart! We may love, we may pant for, the glory on high, Yet tremble and grieve from earth's kindred to part. |