ent rolls,
The wretched still to bless.

Well wishing Heaven hath given to earth,
Some hearts of purest fire,
To renovate our sinful birth,
And raise our low desire.

The Holy Lady did not go
Afar, by sea or land,
But ministered to sighing wo,
And suffering near at hand.

'Twas sweet to see the Lady fair,
Each blessed sabbath morn,
Wear such a sweetly solemn air,
Of bright devotion, born.

'Twas sweet to see her bow at eve,
On lowly bended knee,
To pray, and sadly, sweetly grieve,
For man's perversity.

But sure were we that city fine,
Wherein this Lady dwelt,
Was bettered by a power divine,
And heavenly prompting felt.

When she was old, her heart not cold,
A youthful beauty lay,
A light most wondrous to behold!
Upon her tresses gray.

The charm of goodness does not fade,
Like natural beauty's flower,
But blooms in glory undecayed,
And death-defying power.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

The darkness falls on wood and field,
On lofty peak, on silent sea,
The infant Moon and Planets yield
A faint and feeble brilliancy.

Cans't thou behold the look and shape
Of mount and main, of wold and wood?
The morrow's sun, o'er sea and cape,
Will show them out, both plain and good.

Time darkens all to mortal eyes
Save what faint reason's stars illume:
But when Eternity shall rise,
All shall their shapes and hues assume.

YEMEN.

My soul has been wandering in Yemen,
The land of the aloe and myrrh;
Where the breezes that blow from the ocean,
Brought feelings of heaven to her.

In the joy-giving vallies of Yemen,
On its mountains that blush with their bloom;
My soul has been wandering but lately,
To hide from the weight of her gloom.

My Soul, like the fleet horse of Yemen,
Flew chainless o'er mountain and plain,
Till she paused by the flower-scented ocean,
Then returned on her pinions, again.

In that beautiful world, in that Yemen,
My Soul lately wandered in bliss;
Till she found there a glorious maiden,
She vainly had sighed for, in this.

Then my Soul walked far with this maiden--
In this beautiful region of gold,
And died on the love-burdened accents,
From the fount of her bosom that rolled.

Oh Yemen! whose name is the Happy,
Whose mountains are fragrant with bloom--
My Soul met her Consort there lately--
And now she says nothing of gloom.

LILLY: A POEM.

T