go "meditations at the foot of the beacon." 



Of some iinfortunate, and by his fall 



Eaise up yoivrself nearer your idol gold, 



(And feel not pity for afflicted ones 



Who perhaps more nobly strove, but missed the mark, 



Not wanting talents, will, or honest aim. 



But short of strength to hold on in the race,) 



To you,-ye heartless ones, I would appeal. 



To show the joys, (if joys are ever found,) 



That are derived by piling heap on heap 



Of glittering gold, the only use of which 



Is to give knowledge of possession held; — 



To live, to gain a mass of earthly wealth, 



And dying, leave the worshipped dross behind. 



Powerless to add one feather to the wing 



That weakly strives to bear yoiu: soul above. 



Oh! mighty gold ! thou powerful aid to bless; — 

 Oh ! mighty gold! thou oft times heaviest curse; — 

 The miser's bane, — the poor man's ardent wish;- 

 How are thy benefits abused and crossed ! 

 But could each avaricious soul be taught, 

 To know the joys that spring from thy good use,- 

 To love the ray, which from benevolence 

 Is shed across man's pathway through the world. 

 And to contrast it with the selfish joy 

 "Which fitful gleams amid the settled gloom 

 That veils their hearts, and serves to show how dark, 

 How lonely, and how void, is all within; — 

 Then would they hold thee slighted by their love. 

 And living make thee serve their nobler aims. 



What monument can man erect and leave. 



That will not bow at last, to the stern will 



Of all effacing time? but ye who know 



The ancient spot which fondly I deem home, 



(The spot round which my heart-strings closest twine 



For which my muse would fain a garland weave) 



Know it has monuments which shall endure 



E'en when the groimd on which they proudly rise 



Shall cease to show a single crumbling stone 



To point when once they stood ; — for in the hearts 



Of generations yet unborn, shall live 



The record of munificence and love 



Which reared each stately pile.— That church. 



Whose glittering vane aspiring high, (as tho' 



To kiss the morning's beams as a first welcome 



To the sleepy earth,) will by decay or chance 



Lie shapeless in a moimd of kindred dust; — 



On which may sit old men and tell the tale, 



