Bethink ye that He made ye all! The same God bends above ye! The same God spreads the light or pall, The same God deigns to love ye! The wind that blows the cultured lea. And through the rich man's hedges, Sighs round the poor man pleasantly, And o'er the barren ledges.
The rich go up on Fortune's wheel. The poor are crushed beneath it; Oppression draws the bloody steal, Alas, when will she sheathe it! Then say the Ave-Mary prayer, And chant the Miserere! The autumn frosts have chilled the air, The winter groweth dreary!
The beldame sitteth at her loom, She weepeth 'mid the weaving; The orphan lingers at the tomb, He's mickle cause for grieving. The dust is laid with dropping tears; The slave cowers 'neath the scourging; Each day is filled with busy fears, Like restless spirits urging.
O, God! within the Heaven unseen! When will the sun be shining; Until the spring-time cometh green, Forgive us for our pining! Then say the Ave-Mary prayer, And chant the Miserere! The autumn frosts have chilled the air, The winter groweth dreary!
No work has yet appeared this season in which the better portion of the reading public have felt so deep an interest as in the Life of John Sterling, by THOMAS CARLYLE. But this is less a consequence of the subject than of the authorship. Any thing from the hand of Carlyle is sure of a large audience, but he has hitherto done nothing in which his personality was likely to be so much involved as in this life of his friend "ARCHÆUS." We copy from the London _Spectator_ the following reviewal of it: