There are ties of deep tenderness drawing us down, Which warm round the heart-strings their tendrils will weave;

And Faith, reaching forth for her heavenly crown, Still lingers, embracing the friends she must leave.

'I would not live alway!' because I am sure There's a better, a holier rest in the sky;

And the hope that looks forth to that heavenly shore, Overcomes timid nature's reluctance to die.

O visions of glory, of bliss, and of love,

Where sin cannot enter, nor passion enslave, Ye have power o'er the heart, to subdue or remove The sharpness of death, and the gloom of the grave!

I would not live alway!' yet 'tis not that time,
Its loves, hopes and friendships, cares, duties, and
joys,

Yield nothing exalted, nor pure, nor sublime,
The heart to delight, or the soul to employ ;
No! an angel might oftentimes sinlessly dwell

'Mid the innocent scenes to life's pilgrimage given; And though passion and folly can make earth a hell,

To the pure 'tis the emblem and gate-way of heaven.

'I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY.' 127

'I would not live alway!' and yet, while I stay

In this Eden of time, 'mid these gardens of earth, I'd enjoy the sweet flowers and fruits as I may,

And gain with their treasures whate'er they are worth:

I would live as if life were a part of my heaven,

I would love, as if love were a part of its bliss, And I'd take the sweet comforts, so lavishly given, As foretastes of that world, in portions, in this.

'I would not live alway!' yet willingly wait,
Be it longer or shorter, life's journey to roam,
Ever ready and girded, with spirits elate,

To obey the first call that shall summon me home. O yes it is better, far better, to go

Where pain, sin, and sorrow can never intrude; And yet I would cheerfully tarry below,

And expecting the BETTER, rejoice in the GOOD.

THE LAST REQUEST.

BY BENJAMIN B. THATCHER.

BURY me by the ocean's side-
Oh! give me a grave on the verge of the deep,
Where the noble tide

When the sea-gales blow, my marble may sweep-
And the glistering surf

Shall burst o'er the turf,

And bathe my cold bosom in death as I sleep!

Bury me by the sea—

That the vesper at eve-fall may ring o'er my grave,
Like the hymn of the bee,

Or the hum of the shell, in the silent wave!
Or an anthem roar

Shall be rolled on the shore

By the storm, like a mighty march of the brave!

THE LAST REQUEST.

129

Bury me by the deep

Where a living footstep never may tread;

And come not to weep

Oh! wake not with sorrow the dream of the dead,
But leave me the dirge

Of the breaking surge,

And the silent tears of the sea on my head!

And grave no Parian praise;
Gather no bloom for the heartless tomb,-
And burn no holy blaze

To flatter the awe of its solemn gloom!
For the holier light

Of the star-eyed night,

And the violet morning, my rest will illume :

And honors more dear

Than of sorrow and love, shall be strown on my clay By the young green year,

With its fragrant dews and crimson array.—

Oh! leave me to sleep

On the verge of the deep,

Till the skies and the seas shall have passed away!

HE DOETH ALL THINGS WELL:

OR

MY SISTER.

BY EDWARD M. FIELD.

I remember how I loved her,
When a little guiltless child,

I saw her in the cradle

As she looked on me and smiled.
My cup of happiness was full-
My joy words cannot tell;
And I blessed the glorious giver,

"Who doeth all things well."