Oh! seek it there,
        Turn to its teachings with devoted will;
          Watch unto prayer,
        And in the power of faith this law fulfil.

BARTON’S “THE TRANSLATION OF ENOCH”

FROM NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1828

(See Letter 467, page 841)

“And Enoch walked with God:  and he was not; for God took him.”

Genesis.

Through proudly through the vaulted sky
Was borne Elisha’s sire,
And dazzling unto mortal eye
His car and steeds of fire: 

To me as glorious seems the change
Accorded to thy worth;
As instantaneous and as strange
Thy exit from this earth.

Something which wakes a deeper thrill,
These few brief words unfold,
Than all description’s proudest skill
Could of that hour have told.

Fancy’s keen eye may trace the course
Elijah held on high: 
The car of flame, each fiery horse,
Her visions may supply;—­

But THY transition mocks each dream
Framed by her wildest power,
Nor can her mastery supreme
Conceive thy parting hour.

Were angels, with expanded wings,
As guides and guardians given? 
Or did sweet sounds from seraphs’ strings
Waft thee from earth to heaven?

’Twere vain to ask:  we know but this—­
Thy path from grief and time
Unto eternity and bliss,
Mysterious and sublime!

With God thou walkedst:  and wast not! 
And thought and fancy fail
Further than this to paint thy lot,
Or tell thy wondrous tale.

TALFOURD’S “VERSES IN MEMORY OF A CHILD NAMED AFTER CHARLES LAMB”

FROM THE FINAL MEMORIALS OF CHARLES LAMB

(See Letter 469, page 846)

Our gentle Charles has pass’d away
From Earth’s short bondage free,
And left to us its leaden day
And mist-enshrouded sea.

Here, by the restless ocean’s side,
Sweet hours of hope have flown,
When first the triumph of its tide
Seem’d omen of our own.

That eager joy the sea-breeze gave,
When first it raised his hair,
Sunk with each day’s retiring wave,
Beyond the reach of prayer.

The sun-blink that through drizzling mist,
To flickering hope akin,
Lone waves with feeble fondness kiss’d,
No smile as faint can win;

Yet not in vain, with radiance weak,
The heavenly stranger gleams—­
Not of the world it lights to speak,
But that from whence it streams.

That world our patient sufferer sought,
Serene with pitying eyes,
As if his mounting Spirit caught
The wisdom of the skies.

With boundless love it look’d abroad
For one bright moment given;
Shone with a loveliness that aw’d,
And quiver’d into Heaven.

A year made slow by care and toil
Has paced its weary round,
Since Death enrich’d with kindred spoil
The snow-clad, frost-ribb’d ground.