Weep not that the world changes-did it keep A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.

Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, And dies among his worshippers.

These struggling tides of life that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end.

Eternal Love doth keep In his complacent arms, the earth, the air, the deep.

The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom.

There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,- The desert and illimitable air,- Lone wandering, but not lost.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.