THE HAPPIEST DEATH. BEING THE NARRATIVE OF AN INCIDENT WHICH OCCURRED AT A DINNER PARTY. "WHICH is the happiest death to die?" 66 Oh!" said one, "if I might but choose, And feast my spirit, ere it fly, With bright, celestial views. Mine were a lingering death, without pain; And mark how bright and sweet should be "Fain would I catch a hymn of love, 66 "No,” said another, so not I; Sudden as thought is the death I would die. M "I would suddenly lay my shackles by— Nor see the tear of sorrow starting- "All joy without a pang to cloud it— "Oh! how bright are the realms of light, Bursting at once upon the sight These parting hours-how sad and slow." His voice grew dim,—and fix'd was his eye His spirit had fled, Painless and swift as his own desire! The soul undress'd From its mortal rest, Had stepp'd in that heavenly car of fire! Were the realms of light Bursting at once upon the sight. ANONYMOUS. SAINT PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH. SAINT PHILIP NERI, as old readings say, To give young folks a sober turn of mind, He fell into discourse with him; and thus St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome? intend? St. And, when your are one, what do you St. Well; and how then? Y. Why, cardinal's a high degree And yet my lot it possibly may be. St. Suppose it was, what then? Y. Why, who can say But I've a chance of being a pope one day? St. Well, having worn the mitre and red hat, And triple crown, what follows after that? Y. Nay, there is nothing further to be sure, Upon this earth that wishing can procure: When I've enjoy'd a dignity so high, As long as God shall please, then I must die. St. What! must you die? fond youth! and at the best But wish, and hope, and may be all the rest! Take my advice whatever may betide, For that which must be, first of all provide ; Then think of that which may be, and indeed, When well prepared, who knows what may succeed? DR. BYROM. "THERE'S AYE SOMETHING BETTER BEFORE US." IN the battle o' life, when new troubles oppress, And fortune appears to disdain us; When the weel-hoorded shillings are fast growin' less That only hard toil can regain us,— We maunna sit down at the brink o' despair, But gaze through the cloud that hangs o'er us, When castles we build on the houp o' guid health, And aften o'wark, aye the chief source o' wealth, Sore, sore, is the grief such disasters may bring, I warn ye, defiant we look on ye still, And free as the lark soar above ye. In vain, the north blast o' your anger may blaw, Until ye can tak' the sweet solace awa', 66 There's aye something better before us.” DAVID WINGATE. |