Of the new earth and heaven. But wouldst thou rest 29. THE CITY OF THE LIVING. ANONYMOUS. In a long vanished age, whose varied story So long ago expired its grief and glory- In a broad realm, whose beauty passed all measure, Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasure, And never any died. Disease, and pain, and death, those stern marauders, Never encroached upon the pleasant borders No fear of parting and no dread of dying No mourning for the lost, no anguish'd crying, Without the city walls death reigned as ever, Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor, Oh, happiest of all earth's favored places! To live in the sweet light of loving faces, To feel no death-damp, gathering cold and colder To live on, never lonelier or older, Radiant in deathless youth! And, hurrying from the world's remotest quarters, Across broad plains and over mighty waters, To find that blest abode, Where never death should come between, and sever Them from their loved apart— Where they might work, and will, and live forever, Still holding heart to heart. And so they lived, in happiness and pleasure, And did great deeds, and laid up stores of treasure, And many years rolled on, and saw them striving, And other years still found and left them living, Yet listen, hapless soul, whom angels pity, Mark how the dwellers in the wondrous city One and another, who had been concealing Forsook their pleasant places, and came stealing Craving, with wish that brooked no more denying, The blessed possibility of dying— The treasure they had lost. Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals Till none were left within the city's portals, Would it be worth the having or the giving- Ah, for the weariness that comes of living Ours were indeed a fate deserving pity, And few, methinks, would care to find the city 30.-CATO'S SOLILOQUY. JOSEPH ADDISON. It must be so.-Plato, thou reasonest well: Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; Through all her works,-He must delight in virtue; Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life, The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 31.-POEMS FROM LONGFELLOW. EXCELSIOR. The shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath The accents of that unknown tongue, In happy homes he saw the light Try not the Pass!" the old man said; 66 Excelsior! 'O stay," the maiden said, "and rest A tear stood in his bright blue eye, "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!" This was the peasant's last Good-night, At break of day, as heavenward A traveler, by the faithful hound, There in the twilight cold and gray, Excelsior! TO THE SILENT RIVER. River! that in silence windest 1841 Through the meadows, bright and free, Four long years of mingled feeling, Thou hast taught me, Silent River! Oft in sadness and in illness, And in better hours and brighter, ་་ Not for this alone I love thee, Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee, Friends I love have dwelt beside thee, More than this;-thy name reminds me Friends my soul with joy remembers! On the hearth-stone of my heart! THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. 'Shall I have naught that is fair?" saith he; "Have naught but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. "My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," |