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"Our days are covered o'er with grief,

And sorrows neither few nor brief

Veil all in gloom;

Left desolate of real good,

Within this cheerless solitude

No pleasures bloom.

"Thy pilgrimage begins in tears,

And ends in bitter doubts and fears,

Or dark despair;

Midway so many toils appear,

That he who lingers longest here

Knows most of care.

"Thy goods are bought with many a groan,

By the hot sweat of toil alone,

And weary hearts;

Fleet-footed is the approach of woe,

But with a lingering step and slow

Its form departs."

THE GOOD SHEPHERD.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.

SHEPHERD! that with thine amorous, sylvan song Hast broken the slumber which encompassed me,— That mad'st thy crook from the accursed tree, On which thy powerful arms were stretched so long! Lead me to mercy's ever-flowing fountains;

For thou my shepherd, guard, and guide shalt be;

I will obey thy voice, and wait to see

Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains.

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Hear, Shepherd!-thou who for thy flock art dying, O, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow.

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O, wait!—to thee my weary soul is crying, Wait for me!-Yet why ask it, when I see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still

for me!

TO-MORROW.

FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.

LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,

Thou didst seek after me, that thou didst wait,

Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate,

And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?
O strange delusion ! - that I did not greet

Thy blest approach, and O, to Heaven how lost,
If my ingratitude's unkindly frost

Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon thy feet.

How oft my guardian angel gently cried, "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied,

And when the morrow came I answered still," Tomorrow."

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