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THE CITY.

Thus comes life's autumn, and the happy

spirit,

Calmly disrobing, lays its garments down, Upon the leaf- strewn soil of this old earth, Committing them, in quiet confidence, To the safe keeping of the trusty tomb, Till death's brief winter shall have passed away. Then these old robes, with which she walked the earth,

Purged from each stain of vile mortality, By the all- cleansing winter of the grave, And blanch'd to glorious whiteness by its gloom, Shall shine in fairer, fresher purity,

When earth's long- promised spring at last arrives,

And the unsetting sun smiles down in peace O'er a new Paradise of love and joy.

THE CITY.

THOU art no child of the city!

Hadst thou known it as I have done, Thou would'st not have smiled with pity, As if joy were with thee alone;

With thee the unfetter'd ranger

Of the forest and moorland free: As if gloom and toil and danger Could alone in a city be.