WORTH OF THE SOUL.
Of early bliss must sober, as it will,
And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield,
I would have feelings left time cannot chill; That, while I yet can walk through grove or field,
I may be conscious there of charms by Thee reveal'd.
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And when I shall, as soon or late I must, Become infirm; in age, if I grow old; Or, sooner, if my strength should fail its trust When I relinquish haunts where I have stroll'd At morn or eve, and can no more behold
Thy glorious works: forbid me to repine; Let memory still their loveliness unfold
Before my mortal eye, and let them shine With borrow'd light from Thee, for they are Thine!
BERNARD BARTON.
WORTH OF THE SOUL.
O IGNCRANT poor man! what dost thou bear,
Lock'd up within the casket of thy breast? What jewels, and what riches hast thou there? What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest