THE MARTYR'S GRAVE.

Up then with speed, and work; Fling ease and self away; This is no time for thee to sleep, Up, watch and work and pray!

Make haste, 0 man, to live!

The useful, not the great,

The thing that never dies; The silent toil that is not lost, Set these before thine eyes.

Make haste, 0 man, to live!

The seed, whose leaf and flower, Tho' poor in human sight, Bring forth at last the eternal fruit, Sow thou both day and night.

Make haste, 0 man, to live!

Make haste, 0 man, to live, Thy time is almost o'er; Oh sleep not, dream not, but arise, The Judge is at the door.

Make haste, 0 man, to live!

THE MARTYR'S GRAVE.

THE moss is green upon the stone; The stone lies heavy on the mould; The spot is dreary, sad, and lone; The forest air is cold.

M

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