This did the little maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
Beneath the churchyard tree."
"You run about, my little maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the churchyard laid,
Then ye are only five."
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.
"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem ;
And there upon the ground I sit—
I sit and sing to them.
“And often after sunset, sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.
"The first that died was little Jane ;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away.
"So in the churchyard she was laid;
And all the summer dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.
"And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."
"How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in Heaven?" The little maiden did reply,
"Oh, master! we are seven."
"But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in Heaven !" 'Twas throwing words away for still The little maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven !"
A PSALM OF LIFE.-Longfellow.
TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us.
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait,
CRANMER'S PREDICTION OF THE FUTURE GREATNESS OF THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH.-Shakspeare.
For heaven now bids me, and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth:
This royal infant, (heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: she shall be
(But few now living can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes living with her,
And all that shall succeed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue,
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
That mould up such a mighty piece as this is,
With all the virtues that attend the good,
Shall still be doubled on her: truth shall nurse her,
Holy and heavenly thoughts shall counsel her:
She shall be loved, and feared : her own shall bless her: Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn,
And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her,
In her days, every man shall eat in safety,
Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing
The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours :
God shall be truly known; and those about her
From her shall read the perfect ways of honour,
And by those claim their greatness, not by blood.
Nor shall this peace sleep with her: but as when
The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix,
Her ashes new-create another heir,
As great in admiration as herself;
So shall she leave her blessedness to one
(When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness),
Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour,
Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was,
And so stand fixed: peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
That were the servants to this chosen infant,
Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ;
Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine,
His honour and the greatness of his name
Shall be and make new nations: he shall flourish,
And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches
To all the plains about him :-Our children's children
Shall see this, and bless heaven.
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.-Lamb.
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!
I loved a love once, fairest among women;
Closed are her doors on me; I must not see her;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Like an ingrate I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces !
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood; Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Friend of my bosom ! thou more than a brother!
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces-
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
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