An enlightened mind . . . is not hoodwinked; it is not shut up in a gloomy prison, till it thinks the walls of its own dungeon the limits of the universe, and the reach of its own chain the outer verge of all intelligence. DRIFT-WOOD.

Let us then labor for an inward stillness,
An inward stillness and an inward healing;
That perfect silence where the lips and heart
Are still, and we no longer entertain
Our own imperfect thoughts and vain opinions,
But God alone speaks in us, and we wait
In singleness of heart, that we may know
His will, and in the silence of our spirits,
That we may do his will, and do that only!
JOHN ENDICOTT, New England Tragedies

P. Hörberg, 1746; Bernard Barton, 1784; F. Schubert, 1797.

THE TWO RIVERS.

SLOWLY the hour-hand of the clock moves round;
So slowly that no human eye hath power
To see it move! Slowly in shine or shower
The painted ship above it, homeward bound,
Sails, but seems motionless, as if aground;
Yet both arrive at last; and in his tower
The slumberous watchman wakes and strikes the

hour,

A mellow, measured, melancholy sound. Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night!

The watershed of Time, from which the streams Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way, One to the land of promise and of light,

One to the land of darkness and of dreams!