ver beams, and the stars, those
golden lamps of night, shone bright in the blue chambers of the sky.
An aged man was leaning on his staff, the vigor of life had departed,
his locks were thin and scattered, his palsied limbs would scarce
perform their office. His eye was dim--no longer beaming with
intelligence, and he muttered to himself, as he groped his way along,
worn out with the cares, sorrows and perplexities of a busy life,
deep furrows were upon his cheeks, and his whole appearance bespoke
a weary, way-worn child of earth. He took his solitary way, down a
retired path, thickly shaded with fir, holly and yew, through whose
thick foliage the struggling moonbeam scarce could penetrate, and
the air was filled with humid vapors, gloomy silence as of the tomb
reigned around, but exhausted nature sank, and the aged man pillowed
his head upon the bosom of earth, and closed his weary eyes to rest,
for he was a homeless wanderer.

It was deep, solemn midnight; a dense cloud had obscured the sky,
and hid the refulgent light of the moon; the wind howled in fitful
murmurs, the thunder rolled in the distance, lightnings glared, and
nature wrapped herself in the sable shroud of midnight, and seemed
shrieking a death-wail in her many voices.

Beside the gray haired man stood a pale visitant from the spirit land,
to summons him away; he laid his icy hand upon his waning pulse, and
chilled the current of his struggling breath. No friend was nigh, but
his spirit passed gently away, leaving his countenance placid and
serene in death.

Such is the end of human life. A little mound of heaped up earth marks
the spot, where the weary pilgrim is at rest. All who tread in the
path way of life, must lie down too, "with the pale nations of the
dead," mingle with common dust, and become the sport of the winds.

Flowers.

Flowers are emblems of our youth,
Emblems of innocence and truth,
For though their freshness must decay,
Their fragrance will not pass away.
So, youthful beauty soon must fail;
The eye grow dim, the cheek grow pale;
The brow that now is pure and fair,
May soon be shaded o'er by care.

But if within the trusting heart
Goodness and innocence have part;
If we God's holy law fulfil,
And bow submissive to his will,
Then shall the heart, like some sweet flow'r,
That's lightly pluck'd from beauty's bow'r,
And rudely crush'd beneath the feet,
Yield fragrance far more pure and sw