THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 183 Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Crom well, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; And, prithee, lead me in; There, take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny: 'tis the king's: my robe, I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! XXXIX. THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD. CARDINAL NEWMAN. LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, The night is dark, and I am far from home,.— Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou I loved to choose and see my path, but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till And with the morn those angel faces smile XL. EVERY YEAR. ALBERT PIKE. LIFE is a count of losses Every year; For the weak are heavier crosses Lost springs with sobs replying The days have less of gladness The nights more weight of sadness Every year; EVERY YEAR. Fair springs no longer charm us, There come new cares and sorrows Dark days and darker morrows The ghosts of dead loves haunt us, To the past go more dead faces As the loved leave vacant places Every year; Everywhere their sad eyes meet us, "You are growing old," they tell us, "You are more alone," they tell us, "Every year. You can win no new affection, You have only recollection, 185 The shores of life are shifting Every year; And we are seaward drifting Old places, changing, fret us, There are fewer to regret us But the truer life draws nigher And its morning star climbs higher Earth's hold on us grows slighter, XLI. THANATOPSIS. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. To him who, in the love of Nature, holds THANATOPSIS. 187 When thoughts Into his darker musings with a mild Of the stern agony, and shroud and pall, In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, Thy image. Earth that nourished thee, shall claim To be a brother to the insensible rock, And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, |