res, and the complicated mass that forms
the man, with all their separate dependencies upon each other. But
the mind, the great moving spring of action that gives motion to the
whole, who can analyze or delineate? That will live forever, when the
stillness of death rests upon the pulses. That is the great connecting
link between time and eternity, and doomed, by the order of nature,
to live forever, and the boundless ages of eternity alone can fully
develop its faculties, or define its station.

And too, there is another upon earth, whose presence is often felt,
but is never seen. The pale horse and his rider leave unmistakable
evidences of their sojourn with the generations of men, They pass on,
breathing upon them a chilling breath, and they are seen no more. They
go forth, conquering and to conquer, and the king, and the beggar,
fall alike, before their ruthless sway.

But, there is yet the great unchanging God, for whose honor and glory
all things are and were created, who "spake and it was done," and who
has taught us by revelation, that the heavens shall be rolled together
as a scroll, and the spirit alone remain of man.

The Seasons.

Swift rolls the fast revolving year,
As months and seasons disappear;
And scarce we greet the vernal Spring,
Ere Summer spreads her sultry wing;
And she retires with hasty pace
To give to sober Autumn place;
Who scatters fruits and flowers around,
And then to Winter leaves the ground;
With frost and snow and tempests drear,
He closes each succeeding year.
But though so swift they pass from view,
Each has its portioned work to do.
Spring must unbind the icy chains,
And send the streamlet o'er the plains;
Call the feather'd songsters home,
That far in southern climates roam:
Must bid the springing grass appear,
And daisies crown the bright parterre;
Gently distil her silent show'rs,
And propagate her budding flow'rs;
Thus gathering up her treasures fair,
A gift for Summer, rich and rare.

She takes the garland bright and gay,
Fresh from the blooming lap of May:
Unfolds the casings from the flow'rs,
And flings them o'er her sylvan bow'rs;
Brings all their hidden tints to view,
Gives to their leaves a deeper hue:
Sends forth the bee and butterfly,
On downy pinions soaring high,
Or sporting gay from flow'r to flow'r,
Through the short lived Summer hour.
She brings, on every passing breeze,
Som