THE MIRY LANE.

We looked o'er the gate on a wearisome lane,
Tracked afar by cold gleams of the new fallen rain;
An emblem it seemed of that oft-trodden road,
The sorrowful life, and its final abode,
With its mire of transgressions and furrows of care,
Its pools full of tears, and its sloughs of despair;
And we sighed to perceive it was lost to our view
Amid desolate wilds and vague ridges of blue.
But there flamed up the welkin a ravishing change,
That engulphed in its splendours the misty cloud range,
And the path that we shuddered at caught the sky's fire,
The pools flushed in silver, and gold was its mire;
And we smiled in our hearts when we saw that it led
Right into the sunset 'neath streamers of red.
Faith's path will reflect the celestial glow,
And bring heaven to the heart wheresoever we go;
Deep and rough it may be, yet they sing on the road
Who know that it ends in the welcome of God.

THE DOUBTFUL RACE.

Beyond the hill his vessel lies,
Would he were safe upon its side,
Who now through brake and thicket flies
To gain the ferry in his stride.
Loitering at first, though well he knew
That time and tide for no man wait,
He dreads to think what ills pursue
The idle seaman all too late.
Nelson, himself a nation's power,
Victor of hosts in every clime,
Stood ready aye before the hour,
Nor ever deigned to race with time.