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256 ELIZABETH J. EAMES.

The feeble wings that fain would find
The source of mental day;
Still unrevealed the path - and blind
Doth the immortal stray!

Oh, pining soul! my heart is faint -
My hand grows timorous, weak;
Why, why that half-reproachful plaint?
And wherefore dost thou speak
So mournful, and despondingly,
Imploring my poor aid?
What can I do, dear soul, for thee,
Ere I am lowlier laid?

Seest thou my cheek is thin and pale,
Mine eyes with vigils dim?
Daily my strength and courage fail,
And through each faltering limb
Quivers the arrows of disease; Still, for the wasting clay,
Cometh no hours of calm and ease
To soften its decay!

Oh! not in such imperfect state
Can thy full wakening be;
Yet, yet, my soul in patience wait-
The morn must break for thee.
Not vainly dost thou thirst for more
Than this poor world can give-
Where gleam the waves of yon bright shore,
There shalt thou drink and life.

Feed from those bonds of mortal flesh,
Thou shalt go forth, my soul,
Rejoicing in a nobler birth,
With powers beyond control.

ELIZABTH J. EAMES.  257

DIEM PERDIDI.

"When the Emperor Titus remembered at night that he had done
nothing beneficial during the day, he used to exclaim- I have lost a day!"

O GREATLY wise! thou of the crown and rod,
Robed in the purple majesty of kings-
Power was thine own, where'er thy footsteps trod,
Yet didst thou mourn if Time on idle wings
Went by for thee! Deep sunk in thought wert thou-
And sadness rested on thy noble brow,
If, when the dying day closed o'er thy head,
Thou hadst no knowledge gain'd - no good conferr'd:
"Diem Perdidi" was the thought that stirr'd
Thy conscious soul, when night her curtain spread.
Oh Emperor, greatly wise! could we so deal
With missspent hours, and win thy faith sublime,
We should not be ('mid the soul's mute appeal)
Such triflers with the solemn trust of Time!

CHARITY.

ALL. stainless in the holy white
Of her broad mantle - lo!. the maiden cometh.
Lip, cheek and brow serenely bright
With that calm look of deep delight.
Beautiful, - on the mountain top she roameth.

"The soft gray of the brooding dove"
With melting radiance in her eye she weareth;

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