A mental treasure which will hold
More peace of mind than countless gold,
Will cheer the soul o'er roughest road,
And, smiling, lay on God the load;
Who, ever ready to relieve,

With pleasure aids those who believe
That Nature's God, and soul of mind,
Unloosens more than man can bind.
A Spirit, God-a God of love,
Of Virtue, Truth, who reigns above-
Reigns above ill, and rules for good,
Supporting where He's understood;
And when He is, no man can harm
The Spirit-in itself its charm.

IX.

Of all the masters which we own,
The strongest is from Habit grown,
All-powerful 'tis for good or ill,
Then careful prune, and good instil;
For loss of wealth and power, is less
Than loss of worth and cheerfulness.
Those are the losses of mere clay,
These of the Spirit's hope, eternal day!-
Yet none can cast their faults aside
Like worn-out garb, or broken pride :-
But, 'tis the curse of every dunce,
They wish bad habits off at once;
Vain fretting at their failing, too,
They drain the cup of bitter rue.
As well expect an oak to grow
Up in an hour, or ocean flow
In one vast wave above the moon,
As rooted Habit cease so soon.

No help but persevering care,

And Godly trust, with heartfelt prayer,
Can e're destroy bad habit's force,-
'Twere like a Troy without a horse;
Try, is the staff which God has given
To gain the steep that leads to Heaven!

1 Far better to try and conquer a fault, although we always fail, than never to try at all.

X.

Apollo's beams, and his alone,
Can ripen fruits in every zone;
Then let us each and all keep guard

That Vice keeps neither watch nor ward,
Nor leave to Chance, nor even Fate,
But watch ourselves both ear' and late;
And carefully lay up a store

Of world's wealth, and Godly lore;
Take these away, grey hairs are left,
Respect of God and man bereft,
And buffeted, despised of all,
Left, too, by Nature, but to crawl;--
A wriggling worm, in each one's road,
Unfit to bear, or drop their load.1

Such worms are crushed at every tread,
Their nearest friends too wish them dead-
With neither sting nor strength to harm,
Poor worms, they're crushed without alarm!
No cadger's horse more vilely used
Than man, by sin and self abused;
With wasted strength, by Devil driven,
Reels down the hill, away from Heaven;
Yon cadger drives hard up the hill—
The Devil drives down harder still;
That Devil is but conscience stings,
For Evil, still tenacious clings.

It may, by health, be much reduced,
But, chicken-like, comes home to roost.

1 Both Shakespeare and Burns, and Sacred Scripture also, truly say that

And Moore makes one almost shudder, to think that Old Age and Poverty may,-like Sin-when the glorious opportunity of youth and middle life are lost, hear the joyous laugh of Peace and Plenty, which might have been theirs, thrill through their wasted frames,

"Like lutes of Angels, touched so near

Hell's confines that the damned can hear!"

Ay! even on Earth, Old Age, Poverty, and Sickness, constitute a mimic Hell, enough for poor, faulty, frail Humanity!

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating

Funeral marches to the grave."-Longfellow.

"Not long the hours, they never paused o'er time,
Unbroken by the clock's funereal chime,

Which deals the daily pittance of our span,

And points, and mocks with iron laugh at man."

"Life's journey is that of a brief winter's day, and its course will run on whether we avail ourselves of its progress or no."-Sir W. Scott.

Ay, and "Years rush by us like the wind, we see not whence the eddy comes, nor whitherward it is tending; we seem ourselves to witness their flight, without a sense that we are changed, and yet, Time is beguiling man of his strength,' as the winds rob the woods of their foliage."—Ibid.

"Hope humbly then, with trembling pinion soar,
Wait the great teacher Death, and God adore."-Pope.

HARK!-the clock is solemn ticking

Constant on the silent wall,

Mournfully, 'tis Time thus speaking,
Kindly warning each and all.

See, the moments swiftly sweeping,
Till the minutes fast have gone ;
Rapid too the hours are creeping,
Till both years and Life have flown.

Many hours are spent unheeded,
While the march of time goes on,
Until we wonder how they've speeded-
How our youth so fast hath flown!

See yon stripling, comrades tricking-
Running, laughing, cheerful, gay—
Laughing, while his heart is ticking,
Swiftly wearing youth away.

See the miser 'mid his lumber,
See the noble in his hall;
Ah, too busy to remember,
Time is fleeting on the wall.