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 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D. 
 
 
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 TON THEOLOGICAL SEI 
 
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 / y 
 
H Y >I N s 
 
 AND 
 
 APR 16 1936 
 
 &f. *® 
 
 SKETCHES IN VERSE. 
 
 BY TIIE AUTHOR OF 
 
 "TALES OF THE GREAT AND BRAVE," "TALES OF MANY 
 LANDS," "MY BOY'S FIRST BOOK," kc. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. LOCKEN, 311 MARKET STREET. 
 
 1851. 
 
I 
 
TO 
 
 GEORGE RAWDON ,- 
 
 HYMNS AND SKETCHES IN VERSE 
 
 ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 
 
 " The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. 
 
 " The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be 
 gracious unto thee. 
 
 " The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give 
 thee peace." (Numbers, vi. 24, 25, 26.) 
 
 " The Lord watch between me and thee, when we are 
 absent one from another." (Genesis, xxxi. 49.) 
 
 (iii) 
 
PREFACE 
 
 M* dear, dear Boy, 
 
 In the following Hymns and Sketches you, 
 and perhaps others, may think that while most of 
 them are suited to your early age, there are some 
 only fitted for those who are many years your senior. 
 This I feel to be true, but I have an excuse to plead. 
 I have dedicated the book particularly to you, be- 
 cause your name is uppermost in my heart ; but 
 
 H 1 and U n have equal claims ; and but that 
 
 " human love" is not " the growth of human will," 
 
 those of U n's ought perhaps to be the strongest. 
 
 Thus it is, that though nominally for you alone, I 
 would, by suiting different parts to your different ages, 
 
 (v) 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 have eacn find in it what may interest each. Such 
 my dear boy, is my apology, and one which by you, 
 I know, will be readily accepted. 
 
 These hymns have not been written solely with 
 the intention of being committed to memory, but 
 rather in the hope that the perusal of them may 
 often give you pleasure. Should this hope be real- 
 ized, should any of these lines aid the endeavours 
 of those around you to turn, in the midst of all your 
 gladness, your thoughts to God, soothe you in an 
 hour of sickness, or awaken one thought of another 
 and a better world, then will the heart of one who 
 dearly and fondly loves you, have ample reward. 
 
TO MY DEAR BOY. 
 
 When joyousness is round my path, 
 And mirth laughs near the while, 
 
 I think of thee, my gentle boy, 
 And bless thy name, and smile. 
 
 When sorrow's darkest frowns are near, 
 
 My heart in grief to steep, 
 I think of thee, my absent boy, 
 
 And bless thy name and weep. 
 
 While bending down before my God, 
 
 At opening dawn of day ; 
 I think of thee, my much loved boy, 
 
 And bless thy name, and pray. 
 
 (vii) 
 
Vll I 
 
 And when death's damps shall stain my 
 And death's dews dim mine eye, 
 
 I'll think of thee, dear cherished child, 
 And bless thy name and die. 
 
 ^w, 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 Page 
 
 - 13 
 
 The Dying Child 
 
 16 
 
 Morning Hymn - 
 
 - 23 
 
 The Book of God 
 
 26 
 
 G R 's Hymn and Prayer 
 
 - 30 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 40 
 
 A Walk in February 
 
 - 42 
 
 The Sabbath - 
 
 45 
 
 To G R 
 
 - 47 
 
 The Roman Mother - 
 
 51 
 
 Hymn 
 
 - 56 
 
 (ix) 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Brothers of Germany 58 
 
 Hymn - - - - - - 65 
 
 The Altar in the Wilderness 68 
 
 H t's Birthday - - - -72 
 
 U n's Birthday - ... 77 
 
 R n's Birthday - - - - 80 
 
 To R n ----- 82 
 
 H y's Birthday - - - - 85 
 
 The Dream ----- 88 
 
 Hymn - - - - - - 94 
 
 Hymn ----- 97 
 
 Prayer for Belief - - - - 100 
 
 The First Grief - - - 101 
 
 Hymn - - - - - - 113 
 
 Hymn - - - - 115 
 
 The Holy Child of Westminster Abbey - - 117 
 
 Hymn- ----- 121 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 - 124 
 
 The Sister's Lament - 
 
 127 
 
 To G R - 
 
 - 132 
 
 A Fragment - m 
 
 135 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 - 146 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 149 
 
 The Orphans - 
 
 - 152 
 
 Hymn - - 
 
 159 
 
 The Sailor Boy - 
 
 - 162 
 
 To G R 
 
 174 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 - 177 
 
 Spring - 
 
 179 
 
 They had gone forth - 
 
 - 184 
 
 G R 's Hymn 
 
 197 
 
 Hymn - 
 
 - 201 
 
 Hymn ------ 
 
 204 
 
 The Missionary's Grave - - - 
 
 - 206 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Hymn .... - 217 
 
 Hymn ------ 220 
 
 The Sabbath Hymn 222 
 
HYMNS 
 
 AND 
 
 SKETCHES IN VERSE 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Teach me, Almighty God, to raise 
 
 My heart to thee, in grateful praise 
 
 Teach me, Lord, to how before 
 
 Thy throne, and humbly to adore 
 
 Thy wondrous ways. 
 
 fl3) 
 
14 
 
 Teach me, Almighty God, to see 
 The wonders of the Deity : 
 Teach me in earth, and air, and sky, 
 To note thy glorious majesty. 
 Teach me to worship thee. 
 
 Teach me a willing ear to lend 
 To her, my childhood's surest friend : 
 Oh, teach me so to act my part, 
 That her name, ever in my heart, 
 With thine may blend. 
 
 A mother's counsels, may they be 
 Still welcomed and revered by me, 
 
15 
 
 That I, in childhood, and in youth, 
 May love the sacred paths of truth, 
 And live alone for thee. 
 
 I thank thee for the care which gave 
 Me parents, who will seek to save 
 Their child from ill, and turn his eyes 
 And thoughts to that fair world, that lies 
 Beyond the grave, 
 
 Oh, teach me, then, to bend in prayer, 
 And thank thee for so great a share 
 Of blessings, lest I e'er should be 
 Thankless for mercies granted me, 
 And worthless of thy care. 
 
1G 
 
 THE DYING CHILD. 
 
 A little sufferer lay stretched upon the 
 
 bed of death : 
 Brief, brief had been his young career ; 
 
 the spring's rejoicing breath 
 Had played around his bright fair head, 
 
 through eight successive years ; 
 Eight joyous summers he had known ; 
 
 the ninth arose in tears ; 
 For he was dying ! On that brow, so 
 
 innocently fair, 
 
 
17 
 
 Death had been writ. Alas ! to see his 
 
 gloomy impress there : 
 Alas ! to see the agony his slender form 
 
 that wrung, 
 While still, in every brief respite, that 
 
 holy infant sung 
 His song of praise, and blessed the hand 
 
 that held the chastening rod, 
 And prayed that pain and suffering soon 
 
 might fit him for his God ; 
 Or now, on feebly-bended knee, he'd 
 
 raise his loving eye, 
 And plead, if 'twas his Father's will, 
 
 that yet he might not die, 
 
18 
 
 In the long, sleepless hours of night. 
 
 'twas sad, hut sweet to hear 
 How oft that fair child's voice would rise. 
 
 first low, then proudly clear ; 
 And thus his gushing song he'd pour to 
 
 that high Power above, 
 Who, from his earliest years, had been 
 
 to him a God of love. 
 
 " Lord Jesus, holy Son of God ! 
 
 Look on me where I kneel, 
 Thou, who though blest as heaven itself, 
 
 For others' woes can feel. 
 
19 
 
 " Look on thy child's deep suffering ; 
 
 Look on his grief and fear : 
 Lord Jesus, holy Son of God, 
 
 Hear me, my Saviour, hear ! 
 
 Oh, if it be thy mighty will, 
 Stretch forth thy hand to save : 
 
 I am too young, too unprepared, 
 So soon to seek the grave. 
 
 Hear me, my Father ! speak the word ; 
 
 Send me some speedy cure, 
 Or, if such seem not good to thee, 
 
 Then teach me to endure. 
 
20 
 
 Oh, hush my feeble plaints that rise, 
 Let not my tear-drops flow ; 
 
 Let me not add, O God of love, 
 To a loved mother's woe. 
 
 I know, by her pale, thoughtful brow, 
 
 And by her altered eye, 
 And by the tears she strives to hide, 
 
 She feels that I must die. 
 
 And by the love that she has shown, 
 Love equalled but by thine, 
 
 And by the grief she suffers now 
 She'd give her life for mine, 
 
21 
 
 So would not I — no, she must live; 
 
 Be it thy high decree 
 That she may lead our little band 
 
 To joy. and heaven, and thee." 
 
 The fair child ceased — for near him then, 
 
 in sorrow's darkest mood, 
 Breathless, his innocent words to list, 
 
 the weeping mother stood. 
 He raised his soft, deep loving eye, with 
 
 a thrill of joy, that came 
 Like the sudden ebbing back of life, 
 
 through his enfeebled frame : — 
 
22 
 
 "And art thou here ! I might have known, 
 
 thou that art never far." 
 He wreathed his arms her neck around, 
 
 and like a glittering star, 
 Not dimmed or damped by the dews of 
 
 death, altho' death lurked so near, 
 His sunny curls lay motionless on the 
 
 breast that throbbed with fear ; 
 For on his brow there was a light, too 
 
 bright for the earth she trod : 
 It was his call to heaven — the child was 
 
 an angel with his God ! 
 
23 
 
 MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Come, let us raise our hearts to God, 
 And kneel, and humbly pray ; 
 
 'Tis fitting that our little band 
 Should thus begin the day. 
 
 For God it is who gives us joy, 
 He guards our tender years ; 
 
 But for his love we might have passed 
 Our early life in tears. 
 
24 
 
 He grants us blessings one by one, 
 He gives them every hour ; 
 
 He shields us with almighty love, 
 Guards with almighty power. 
 
 Nor is this all ; well may we seek, 
 Well may we love to pray, 
 
 Since Jesus died upon the cross, 
 To wash our sins away. 
 
 Jesus, who loved us, and who said, 
 " Let children come to me : " 
 
 How grateful for kind words like these 
 Should little children be ! 
 
25 
 
 Then let us come before him now, 
 He will not turn away ; 
 
 God is so good, he loves to hear 
 Better than we to pray. 
 
26 
 
 THE BOOK OF GOD. 
 
 What should we do without the Boot 
 
 The sacred Book of God ? 
 How should we know the better path } 
 
 How bear the chastening rod 
 Without its aid ? When God sees fit 
 
 To bow us down in grief, 
 Where, but amid its sacred lines, 
 
 Should we seek and find relief? 
 If by deep pain and suffering 
 
 And sickness we are worn, 
 
27 
 
 We look into his Book, and find, 
 
 "Blessed are they that mourn,"* 
 Btessed are they that sorrow here ; 
 
 They shall be blessed on high : 
 This earth is not their home, and grief 
 
 Prepares them for the sky. 
 If we bend, mourning, o'er the graves 
 
 Of those we see no more, 
 His Book then tells us they are blessed, 
 
 And all their labours o'er.f 
 
 * " Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be 
 comforted." — (Matt. v. 4.) 
 
 t "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, 
 even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their 
 labour."— (Rev. xiv. 13.) 
 
28 
 
 Had we to mourn an orphan's fate, 
 
 And think that fate unkind, 
 God tells us that the fatherless 
 
 In him a father find.* 
 And more, more blest assurances 
 
 Within that Book we see ; — 
 Christ Jesus, with an angry God. 
 
 Our advocate will be :f 
 For 'tis a saying kind as true, 
 
 That Jesus sought the grave, 
 
 * " A Father of the fatherless, and a judge of the 
 widows is God in his holy habitation." — (Psalm 
 Lxviii. 50.) 
 
 t " If any man sin, he hath an advocate with the 
 Father, Christ Jesus, the righteous." — (1 John, ii. 12.) 
 
29 
 
 And came into this world of sin 
 That sinners he might save.* 
 
 Blessed holy Book ! well may we prize 
 It as our dearest bliss ; 
 
 It fits us for another world, 
 And cheers us on in this. 
 
 * " This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all 
 acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world 
 to save sinners." — (Timothy, i. 15.) 
 
 
30 
 
 G R S 
 
 HYMN AND PRAYER. 
 
 Prayer is an expression of our dependence upon 
 God." 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 All gracious God, who reigns on high, 
 
 On thee will I depend, 
 Nor fear to seek the throne of Him 
 
 Who is the sinner's friend. 
 
31 
 
 How good, how merciful thou art, 
 
 To lend a gracious ear ! 
 E'en when the voice of childhood prays, 
 
 I know that thou wilt hear. 
 
 And can it be — shall I be heard, 
 
 While tremblingly I raise 
 My voice to where blest angels sing 
 
 Eternal songs of praise ? 
 
 Yes, I may plead, and thou, e'en thou, 
 
 Will listen to my prayer, 
 While I, for every cherished one, 
 
 Entreat a Father's care 
 
32 
 
 Then let me humbly bend the knee, 
 And lift my voice on high, 
 
 Blest in the blest security 
 That God will hear my cry. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 All-gracious God, behold me here, 
 
 While humbly thus I bow, 
 Entreating thou wilt crown with peace 
 
 A gentle mother's brow. 
 Let holy joyfulness attend 
 
 Her sojourn here below ; 
 Pour not on her meek heart the stream 
 
 Of bitterness and woe. 
 
33 
 
 Let not those loving eyes, that smile 
 
 Upon our infant plays, 
 Be dimmed by one unwelcome thought 
 
 Of us in coming days. 
 And may we, in long after-years, 
 
 Like props around her stand, 
 And may she never have to mourn 
 
 A broken household band — 
 Broken by death ! or worse — by sin : 
 
 Nor heedless of her care, 
 May we ne'er blight her dearest hopes ; 
 
 Christ Jesus, hear my prayer. 
 Another parent's cause I'd plead, 
 
 And I on high would raise 
 
34 
 
 A father's name : shower blessings, Lord, 
 
 Upon his coming days. 
 With kindness he has ever trained 
 
 The children of his love ; 
 Do thon make him thy chosen child, 
 
 Christ ! holy one above, 
 And as he leads us gently on 
 
 Through life, be thou his guide ; 
 Be Father, to our father, Lord, 
 
 That o'er the stream may glide 
 In peacefulness his bark ; and when 
 
 His earthly course is done, 
 May he live ever with his God, 
 
 And God's eternal Son. 
 
35 
 
 Again my feeble voice I'd raise, 
 
 In deep and earnest prayer ; 
 Take, take my gentle brother, Lord, 
 
 Beneath thy fost'ring care : 
 And may the light, in coming days, 
 
 That shines upon his brow, 
 Be calm, and proudly beautiful 
 
 And innocent as now ; 
 And may the blue of his clear eye 
 
 Be long undimmed by tears : 
 Be thou his guide, his hope, his stay, 
 
 In all his coming years. 
 And bless my dark-eyed brother, too, 
 
 With all his winning ways, 
 
36 
 
 The gentle, thoughtful tenderness 
 
 That every look betrays. 
 Were gifts from thee ! oh, guard them 
 well ! 
 
 Let not one bright flower fade ; 
 Spread wide their perfume, since thy hand 
 
 So rich the soil has made. 
 
 And bless the fair and gentle babe, 
 Our plaything and our care, 
 
 And make him good and prosp'rous, Lord, 
 Since thou hast made him fair. 
 
 For fair and fairy is the child, 
 Yet I have seen his eye 
 
37 
 
 Wax strange and dim, and his pale cheek 
 
 Proclaim that he must die. 
 And vain seemed every earthly aid, 
 
 And every hope was o'er ; 
 But thy hand raised him up from death, 
 
 So be it evermore. 
 All-gracious God, in every ill 
 
 That may his steps attend, 
 Be thou, as then, all merciful, 
 
 His Saviour and his friend. 
 
 I too, O God, for mine own self 
 Would ask thy gracious care ; 
 
 Helpless I am, and much in need 
 To raise my heart in prayer. 
 
38 
 
 My every effort, Lord, do thou 
 
 Assist, and seek to meiid 
 My sinful ways. But for the thought 
 
 That thou'rt the sinner's friend, 
 How should I dare to draw so near 
 
 The footstool of thy grace ? 
 How venture thus alone to kneel, 
 
 And meet thee face to face ? 
 For thou hast said, that while alone 
 
 We seek thee out in prayer, 
 In mercy and in gentleness, 
 
 Thou surely wilt be there. 
 Then, ere my fervent, last amen 
 
 In trusting hope I breathe, 
 
39 
 
 Amid the band for whom I pray, 
 
 Another name I'd weave, 
 And ask for blessings on her head, 
 
 For she has loved me well ; 
 And I have marked how frequently 
 
 Her silent tear-drops fell, 
 When I, in childish sport, have wreathed 
 
 My arms her neck arounc 1 , 
 Or with wild flow'rets, culled for her, 
 
 Have strewed the perfumed ground. 
 Lord, send thy love into our souls, 
 
 Let us live to worship thee, 
 So shall her heart be comforted, 
 
 And my prayer accepted be. 
 
40 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Let the name of my Father be proudly 
 adored, 
 Let the song of his praise rise victo- 
 rious and free ; 
 
 The cup of salvation has freely been 
 poured 
 By the Saviour who purchased redemp- 
 tion for me. 
 
 Down, dow r n, my proud heart, a song 
 raised to heaven 
 
11 
 
 But a trifling mite in the balance will be. 
 Think'st thou thus to repay the God 
 who has given 
 A Saviour to bleed and to suffer for thee ? 
 
 Yet swell forth my song, let my Father 
 be praised, 
 Though poor and unfitting my worship 
 may be ; 
 The heart that is humbly, but gratefully 
 raised 
 Will be blessed by the Saviour, who 
 perished for me. 
 
42 
 
 A WALK IN FEBRUARY. 
 
 See what a prize I have got, 
 The first primrose of the year ! 
 Not a snowdrop's head, 
 From its earthy hed, 
 Has ventured to appear : 
 But this, the fairest of all wild flowers, 
 
 Has hraved the storm and blast, 
 And on the yet cold wintry scene 
 Its fragrant beauties cast. 
 

43 
 
 Do you know, mamma, what I thought 
 upon 
 
 Gazing on its pale leaves ? 
 I thought how pure is the earliest prayer 
 
 A little infant breathes : 
 Then I longed, oh how I longed to hear 
 
 Dear baby's earliest word. 
 Mamma, do you think if it should be 
 God, 
 
 It would on high be heard ? 
 Oh, if I thought so, I would give 
 
 Up all my hours of play, 
 Even my walks with you, mamma, 
 
 To teach him how to say 
 
44 
 
 That single word : from his pretty lips 
 
 How sweet the sound would seem ! 
 I wish the time was not yet passed 
 
 When God has, in a dream, 
 Called little children to his love, 
 
 As Samuel of yore, 
 Training them up in sacred paths, 
 
 To love him more and more. 
 How sweet to hear dear baby's voice, 
 
 In accents low and clear, 
 Answering to the call of God. 
 
 K Speak to me, Lord ! I hen*\' 
 
 
45 
 
 THE SABBATH. 
 
 " The Lord blessed the Sabbath-day, and hallowed 
 it." — (Exodus, xx. 2.) 
 
 'Tis Sabbath night ! how still and calm, 
 
 And perfumed is the air ! 
 I think upon the Sabbath-night 
 
 That all things show more fair. 
 
 The stars gleam out more lovelily, 
 
 And in the pale moonlight, 
 Flowers with their dewy breathings praise 
 
 The hand that made them bright. 
 
46 
 
 The gushing streamlet's murm'rrng voice, 
 Like distant, prayerful sound, 
 
 Steals, as in holy cadences, 
 Along the hallowed ground. 
 
 The music of the leafy woods 
 Is hushed their bowers among, 
 
 For the gay minstrels of their shades 
 Their last good night have sung. 
 
 But most unto the human heart 
 
 Is peaceful gladness given, 
 And Sabbath nights like these prepare 
 
 The Christian's soul for heaven. 
 
47 
 
 TO G R . 
 
 Alas ! how many are bending now, 
 Bathing in tears some pallid brow ; 
 Gazing, perchance, on a cherished face, 
 Seeking to hold by love's embrace 
 The parting spirit from its flight, 
 Through gates of death to realms of light ! 
 
 Alas ! how many are gazing now 
 In grief upon some pallid brow T , 
 Where death's cold lip has lately prest 
 Its kiss upon the faithful breast 
 
48 
 
 Of the only one, perchance, who hath 
 Shed gleams of sunshine round their path ! 
 
 Alas ! how many are writhing now 
 'Neath the anguished throb of a fevered 
 
 brow, 
 Loathing the day for its sunny light, 
 Dreading the silence and gloom of night, 
 Seeking relief or release in vain, 
 From the heavy weight of their aching 
 
 pain ! 
 
 Alas ! how many are drooping now 
 With famine writ on their haggard brow T ! 
 
49 
 
 How many shrinking forms are cast 
 Naked, upon the wintry blast ! 
 And, oh, how many are bowed beneath 
 The ills that will not end in death ! 
 
 But thou, my boy, I see thee now, 
 A glow upon thy radiant brow 
 Of blooming health ; thou hast not known 
 The cry of pain, the feeble moan ; 
 Nor shed those tears that pity wrings 
 From the heart for another's sufferings ! 
 
 Yes, blessed child ; all brilliant now 
 Are the bright flowrets on thy brow, 
 
50 
 
 By gladness wreathed ; thou hast not heard 
 Death issue forth the dreaded word 
 To aught thou lovest ; thou hast not hent 
 'Neath the weight of Heaven's chastise- 
 ment. 
 
 Dwell on these thoughts my child, and raise 
 Thy heart to Him in grateful praise, 
 Who grants thee joy, and meekly press 
 To thy lips thy cup of happiness ; 
 Not vaunting thee of gladness given, 
 Not careless of the love of Heaven, 
 Not hoasting freedom from the rod, 
 But humhly grateful to thy God. 
 
51 
 
 THE ROMAN MOTHER. 
 
 In Rome, the body of the dead, strewed over with 
 flowers and richly attired, is carried through the 
 streets in an open bier, and laid in the church, 
 where it remains till the appointed hour of interment. 
 The following story is founded on fact. 
 
 On the Roman city rose the sun. 
 
 And all looked bright and smiled, 
 As a Roman mother fondly blessed 
 
 Her fair and first-born child. 
 The sun its high meridian height 
 
 O'er the Roman city shed, 
 
r.i 
 
 When the Roman mother wildly hung 
 
 O'er her first-horn and her dead. 
 Prepare the bier, the flowers prepare, 
 
 But bring no gloomy rue ; 
 Bring buds of the brightest gladdest dye, 
 
 O'er the sable pall to strew ; 
 Bring the first leaves of the opening rose, 
 
 And, oh, bring the flowers of the dead,* 
 With its slender stems of paly green, 
 
 To twine round the infant's head. 
 
 * The periwinkle has obtained this name in Italy 
 and southern countries, from the practice of strewing the 
 bier, and more particularly those of children, with its 
 long and graceful branches. 
 
53 
 
 Lay the wild primrose on his breast, 
 
 O'er his hands wild violets strew ; 
 Meet-offerings they, so simply drest 
 
 In their vestures of quiet blue. 
 Prepare the bier for the young and 
 fair, 
 
 Take the child to its quiet rest ; 
 For in St. Mary's church to-night 
 
 It must lie as for festal drest. 
 The child is borne to the quiet aisle, 
 
 It is laid by the altar now r ; 
 And the wan light of the sacred lamp 
 
 Shines on its pallid brow. 
 
54 
 
 The heavy hours of night are passed ; 
 
 The mother, unseen, unknown, 
 Has sought the church where the child 
 is laid, 
 
 To pray to her God alone. 
 Her falt'ring steps have reached the door ; 
 
 She stands in the sacred aisle ; 
 O God of Heaven, of life, of love, 
 
 She is met hy her infant's smile. 
 Yes ! on the sable pall, where late 
 
 She saw her darling laid, 
 With flowers that were to deck its 
 grave, 
 
 The unconscious infant played. 
 
 
55 
 
 The mother had come to weep and pray, 
 
 By the fair child's early bier ; 
 But she wept and prayed by his living side, 
 
 And God received the tear, 
 And the fervent prayers she offered up, 
 
 And the vows she made to Heaven, 
 To consecrate to God alone 
 
 The child he twice had given. 
 
56 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " 1 give myself unto prayer.'* — (Psalm cix. 4.) 
 
 Lord, I would raise my heart to thee, 
 In deep and earnest prayer, 
 
 And duly on my bended knee 
 Seek thy protecting care. 
 
 I'd come to thee, thou God of love, 
 When breaks the morning light, 
 
 And I would raise my prayer on high 
 In the still hour of night. 
 
 
57 
 
 I'd bring to thee a grateful heart, 
 In all my hours of gladness ; 
 
 I'd look to thee in faith and trust 
 Through every cloud of sadness. 
 
 I would, for every hour I live, 
 For every breath I breathe, 
 
 Thank earnestly the hand from whom 
 All mercies I receive. 
 
 Lord, I would spend in heart-felt prayer 
 The life that thou hast given, 
 
 Since prayer is the blest path by which 
 The soul may enter heaven. 
 
58 
 
 THE BROTHERS OF GERMANY. 
 
 Two youthful wanderers were they : 
 
 They left their native land, 
 Orphaned and pennyless, to range 
 
 Together, hand in hand, 
 Through a wide world, that little cared 
 
 How sad their fate might be. 
 Lord, Father of the fatherless ! 
 
 They had no friend but thee. 
 
 Linked by strong bonds were they; one hour 
 Had smiled upon their birth ; — 
 
59 
 
 Smiled, for their parents boasted then 
 Much of the goods of earth : 
 
 Little, yet much, for in their eyes 
 Their stores were endless wealth ; 
 
 All that they wished their hearts pos- 
 sessed, 
 Contentedness and health. 
 
 But soon an hour of famine came, 
 
 And sickness followed fast, 
 Until upon a heartless world 
 
 The orphaned boys were cast. 
 They were thrust forth to beg their bread ; 
 
 But long they lingered still, 
 
GO 
 
 'Neath the shadow of their chestnut-trees, 
 Upon the wooded hill. 
 
 Hunger they bore, and sickness too, 
 
 To gaze on their own sky ; 
 For much they loved their father-land, 
 
 Their native Germany. 
 And thus passed o'er their youthful heads 
 
 Some weary, struggling years ; 
 They counted time by hours of joy, 
 
 That shone through months of tears. 
 
 Time passed ; they left their native hills 
 The sea they wandered o'er, 
 
61 
 
 Scarce conscious where their steps were 
 bent, 
 
 They stood on England's shore. 
 And now, their lesser wants relieved, 
 
 They wandered still along, 
 Singing at every peasant's door 
 
 Their own loved mountain song. 
 
 And oft the peasants' homely meal 
 The wand'ring minstrels shared ; 
 
 And oft a charitable hand 
 Fit resting-place prepared. 
 
 Sut never yet those orphaned boys 
 Partook of frugal fare, 
 
62 
 
 Nor slept, till fervently they raised 
 Their grateful hearts in prayer. 
 
 If all went well with them, they felt 
 
 God had in mercy staid 
 Their heavy tide of griefs : if ill, 
 
 They turned to him for aid. 
 Thus still through all their chequered life, 
 
 Now gleaming bright, now dim, 
 They looked to God who loveth those 
 
 Who put their trust in him. 
 
 Kindness they met, but more of scorn ; 
 And the inclement sky 
 
63 
 
 Looked coldly on their houseless heads 
 
 Yet they bore patiently, 
 Never returning wrathful word, 
 
 Or taunt, or angry look, 
 While the mean pittance, gratefully. 
 
 With humble hearts they took. 
 
 And soon they met their just rew T ard ; 
 
 Though old and gray-haired now, 
 They tell the tale that I have told, 
 
 While on each furrowed brow 
 The light of gratitude is set, — 
 
 Raising their hearts to God, 
 
64 
 
 They praise him 'mid the mountain 
 scenes 
 Their infant footsteps trod. 
 
 In early life they wandered far ; 
 
 But now, all • trials past, 
 In their birth-place, in their native land, 
 
 Their anchor they have cast. 
 They climb again its wooded hills, 
 
 Gaze on its brilliant sky ; 
 They have regained their father-land 
 
 Their native Germany. 
 
65 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Another day 
 
 Has passed away, 
 Darkness is on the earth ; 
 
 Then let me praise, 
 
 The wondrous wavs 
 Of Him who gave it birth. 
 
 Darkness brings rest 
 
 To the weary breast, 
 
 Beneath sorrow bending ; 
 5 
 
C6 
 
 Sleep, for awhile, 
 Its cherub smile 
 To saddest features lending. 
 
 And darkness brings 
 On healing wings 
 Sleep to the throb of pain ; 
 Balm infusing;, 
 Health diffusing, 
 Through each fevered vein, 
 
 Darkness calls, 
 When its curtain falls, 
 The labourer to his rest ; 
 
67 
 
 Toil dividing, 
 Sleep providing, 
 To his grateful breast. 
 
 Then let me praise 
 
 The wondrous ways 
 Of Him who gave it birth, 
 
 Since slumber brings, 
 
 On blissful wings, 
 Peace to the sons of earth. 
 
68 
 
 THE ALTAR IN THE WILDER- 
 NESS. 
 
 I wandered 'mid a forest scene, 
 Wide shadows spread around, 
 
 When suddenly my footsteps fell 
 Upon some cultured ground. 
 
 In scenes uncared-for, rude and wild, 
 
 That fairy garden lay, 
 And 'mid its glowing flowers I marked 
 
 A little girl at play. 
 
C--J^7^ 
 
69 
 
 Graceful her form, her look, her mien, 
 As- with light step she moved, 
 
 Gazing with earnest tenderness 
 Into each flower she loved. 
 
 But, hush ! a distant pealing bell, 
 
 It is the call to prayer. 
 " Hark ! hark ! that sound," the fair child 
 cried ; 
 
 " Alas ! and I not there." 
 
 A step or two she made, then stopped^ 
 And brushed her tears away. 
 
 " Dear mother, by thy gentle side 
 I may not kneel to-day. 
 
70 
 
 "Far is the path that leads to home, 
 
 I cannot reach in time ; 
 Never, till now, I've wished unheard, 
 
 That sacred warning chime. 
 
 "I may not join my sister-hand, 
 Kneel at mv brother's knee ; 
 
 Nor hear my mother's prayerful song 
 Rise gloriously and free. 
 
 t; But yet my prayer may rise with theirs, 
 With theirs may swell my song ; 
 
 God will receive the sacrifice. 
 
 Though made these woods among." 
 
71 
 
 She knelt upon the dewy grass, 
 She raised her pleading eye, 
 
 And beautiful and holy looked, 
 As a seraph from the sky. 
 
72 
 
 H T'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 1st OCTOBER. 
 
 Dear brother, thou art slumb 'ring still, 
 
 And o'er thy curtained eye 
 How calmly and how gracefully 
 
 Thy peaceful slumbers lie. 
 
 One small and slender hand is twined 
 Thy glitt'ring curls among : 
 
 Thus cherubs sleep, when angel-tones 
 Their lullabies have sung. 
 
73 
 
 But awake, my gentle brother, 
 Awake, awake ! and mine 
 
 Be the first kiss to chase the sleep 
 That seals these lids of thine. 
 
 Mine be the earliest kiss to chase 
 
 This dreamy sleep away, 
 And mine the earliest voice to bless 
 
 Thee, on this happy day. 
 
 Oh, every heart may bless thee, 
 But mine the most of all. 
 
 Awake, awake, my brother ! 
 Arouse thee at my call ! 
 
74 
 
 Let me tell thee how I love thee ! 
 
 I have no gifts to bring, 
 Saving the love thy hand has nursed, 
 
 That knows no withering. 
 
 Well I may love thee ! — I have cause, 
 
 From infancy till now, 
 No childish whim could rouse thy w 7 rath, 
 
 Or cloud for me thy brow. 
 
 Well I mav love thee ! — I have cause, 
 
 For ever by my side 
 My guardian thou, in hours of fear, 
 
 My brother and my guide. 
 
75 
 
 Though few thy sunny years have been, 
 
 They do not double mine : 
 I would my guiding hand through life, 
 
 Dear brother, may be thine. 
 
 I'll bow me down beside thee here, 
 And pray that God may bless, 
 
 And ever guard through life, thy heart's 
 Most perfect gentleness. 
 
 May he shower blessings round thy path, 
 And shield thy steps from ill ; 
 
 And, oh, may he in after years 
 Make thee to love me still. 
 
76 
 
 Then awake, my gentle brother ! 
 
 Awake thee from thy sleep. 
 I know not — 'tis a happy Jay — 
 
 Yet I feel as I could weep. 
 
 IVe heard of those who wept for joy- 
 Joyful my tears may be, 
 
 For I know, my gentle brother, 
 God hears my prayers for thee. 
 
77 
 
 U N'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 17 th MAY. 
 
 Once again the morn is gleaming 
 
 That gave my brother birth, 
 And I see his dark eyes beaming 
 With more than wonted mirth ; 
 For every voice has blessed him. 
 
 And every eye is love, 
 And every lip caressed him ; 
 And to God's throne above 
 
7S 
 
 Are rising earnest tides of prayer, 
 
 And mine amid the rest : 
 Oh. may they find acceptance there, 
 
 May my brother's life be blest. 
 
 Blest may he be — by blooming health, 
 
 Unscathed by sorrow's dart, 
 And long — oh, long possess fhe wealth 
 Of a kind and generous heart. 
 Blest be he in those around, 
 Who so fondly love him ; 
 For, oh, never yet was found 
 A heart to rank above him. 
 
79 
 
 In love and gentleness and truth 
 And tenderness of feeling, 
 
 Lord, make the promise of his youth 
 Perfect, through thy dealing. 
 
so 
 
 R N'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 25th AUGUST. 
 
 The morn is up, I must awake, 
 And rise and kneel to pray, 
 
 And thank the God whose care has led 
 Me on to see to-day. 
 
 Far in the soft hlue azure sky 
 
 Glitters the summer sun, 
 Not yet in glorious majesty 
 
 His yearly course is run. 
 
81 
 
 But I another year have seen, 
 
 In summer I was horn ; 
 And now I hail in joy the light 
 
 Of this my natal morn. 
 
 For God has crowned my life with bliss, 
 
 No sorrow have I seen ; 
 Like unto sunshine without shade 
 
 My happy life has been. 
 
 O Lord, my God, grant me yet this ; 
 
 Hear and receive my prayer ; 
 Make 'me through each succeeding year 
 
 More worthy of thy care. 
 
82 
 
 TO R N. 
 
 25th AUGUST. 
 
 " I will pray for you to the Lord."' — (Samuel, vii. 5.) 
 
 The model of thy little hand 
 
 Is laid before me now, 
 And I turn to gaze with tearful eye 
 
 Upon thy pictured brow. 
 I cannot clasp that marble hand, 
 
 Encircling it as thine : 
 And those bright eyes of liquid blue 
 
 Send back no glance to mine. 
 
S3 
 
 Ever till now, at this same hour, 
 
 Upon this happy day, 
 I've chased, with many a kiss of love, 
 
 Thy rosy sleep away : 
 But now thou'rt in the strangers' land. 
 
 And I, my hlessed boy, 
 I may not on thy natal morn 
 
 Wish thee return of joy. 
 
 Not wish thee a return of joy ! — 
 No, dearest child ! but prayer 
 
 May rise on high, and thy dear name 
 Be fondly whispered there. 
 
84 
 
 For thee there is an earnest voice 
 Still pleading in my breast, 
 
 And if that voice may blessings win, 
 Thou surely shall be blest. 
 
H -'S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 17th APRIL. 
 
 Dear baby-boy, two sunny years 
 
 Your little life has seen ; 
 Bat like a dream of nothingness 
 
 To you that time has been. 
 
 The smiles your dimpled cheeks that deck, 
 Like sun-beams on a flower, 
 
 And the tears you shed are all forgot 
 Before the coming hour. 
 
66 
 
 But it will not be ever thus ; 
 
 Dear baby, you will know 
 The difference of good from ill, 
 
 Of joyousness from woe. 
 
 Bright smiles are on your cheeks to-day ; 
 
 But little do you guess, 
 From laughing eyes around you now, 
 
 Of the heart's tenderness ; 
 
 Of prayers that God may train you so, 
 
 That every year that's past 
 May find you still as innocent, 
 
 And wiser than the last ; 
 
87. 
 
 That he may guard you still through life, 
 And bless your blue-eyed boy, 
 
 That a fair life mav win for him 
 Eternity of joy. 
 
ss 
 
 THE DREAM. 
 
 I dreamed that on a winter's night 
 
 I wandered forth alone, 
 And, careless of the gathering storm, 
 
 Upon a cold gray stone 
 I sat me down, too full of joy 
 
 To heed the chilling blast ; 
 When, as I mused, with trembling step 
 
 An aged father passed. 
 
89 
 
 Bent was his form, and suddenly 
 
 More falt'ring grew his tread ; 
 He sank upon the icy path — 
 
 The gray-haired man was dead. 
 "Alas!" I cried, "thy life is past, 
 
 Thy sojourn among men ; 
 Yet ripe wert thou ; thou must have 
 seen 
 
 Thy four-score years and ten." 
 
 My dream was changed — I thought I 
 stood 
 'Mid summer's brightest flowers, 
 Where rays of noon-day pleasantly 
 
00 
 
 Fell amid shady bowers. 
 Upon a bank of richest green 
 
 A slender form reclined ; 
 Deeply but gracefully with thought 
 
 Her youthful brow was lined. 
 
 And with a glad yet pensive grace, 
 
 Her dark and loving eye 
 Followed, with watchful tenderness, 
 
 Fair forms that flitted by : 
 Her children they — with the bright flowers 
 
 The lovely infants vied ; 
 So thought she. and she brighty smiled — 
 
 But as I gazed, she died. 
 
91 
 
 Agiin my dream was changed — I played 
 
 'Mid early flowers of spring, 
 At opening day, with a little child, 
 
 A gay and gladsome thing. 
 We sported with a glittering fount, 
 
 That high its treasures threw ; 
 We crowned his infant hrow with flowers. 
 
 Still wet with morning dew. 
 
 Joy sparkled in his liquid eye, 
 His laugh rang loud and light; 
 
 No pebble on the fair child's path 
 But offered new delight : 
 
 I listened to that ringing laugh, 
 
92 
 
 Gazed on that happy eye — 
 I saw the fair child suddenly 
 Bow dow r n his head and die. 
 
 Then, starting from that fearful dream, 
 
 i: Save, save," I cried, " the child !" — 
 I looked around, 'twas summer's morn, 
 
 All nature calmly Ismiled. 
 My God, and w r as that vision sent, 
 
 Like dream of holy breath, 
 To teach my over careless heart, 
 
 That 'mid our life is death ? 
 
 Not in my dream alone his dart 
 Strikes down the young and fair ; 
 
y3 
 
 The church-yard's graves are numerous 
 Age, childhood, youth are there. 
 
 Not at a stated hour the hand 
 Of death its bolt lets fall : 
 
 Lord, through thy mercy render me 
 More fitted for his call. 
 
94 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " Turn thou me and I shall be turned." 
 (Jeremiah, xxxi. 18.) 
 
 Lord, save me ! was a sinner's cry, 
 And well may it be~ mine ; 
 
 Lord, I have erred — each hour I err, 
 Against thy hand divine. 
 
 Thankless — ungrateful, I have been 
 For all thy works of love ; 
 
 O Lord, almighty God of grace, 
 Raise, raise my heart above. 
 
95 
 
 Thou whose almighty word could calm 
 
 The raging of the sea, 
 Calm all my evil passions, Lord, 
 
 And turn my heart to thee. 
 
 Thou whose all blessed word could change 
 
 The water into wine, 
 Oh change my sinful waywardness, 
 
 And make me wholly thine ! 
 
 Thou who hast stood beside the grave, 
 
 And bade it yield its dead, 
 Oh make my stubborn, stony heart 
 
 More willing to be led ! 
 
96 
 
 Thou who hast made the lame to walk, 
 And caused the Wind to see, 
 
 Lord, Lord, send forth thy mighty word, 
 And turn my soul to thee. 
 
97 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 - " There is none other name under Heaven given 
 among men, whereby we may be saved." — (Acts, 
 iv. 12.) 
 
 " Dear mother, speak to me, I pray, 
 
 Tell me of heaven's bliss ; 
 'Tis a world far more beautiful, 
 
 I've heard you say, than this. 
 
 " You tell me too, straight is the path 
 And narrow is the way ; 
 
98 
 
 How may a little infant climb, 
 Dear mother, kindly say ? 
 
 " Must I lay evil thoughts aside. 
 
 And meek and gentle be ? 
 Tell me, dear mother, will this gain 
 
 A place in heaven for me ? 
 
 " And must I read his sacred book, 
 Obey each high command ; 
 
 Must I in humble patience take 
 All chastening at his hand ?" 
 
 " Yes, dearest one, all this and more 
 We each alike must do ; 
 
99 
 
 You must have faith in Christ, dear child, 
 Who gave his life for you. 
 
 You must believe that in his blood 
 Your sins are washed away : 
 
 High was the ransom, great the love, 
 That could such ransom pay. 
 
 " In Christ, the blessed Son of God, 
 
 Secure thy faith must be ; 
 For this alone, dear child, can gain 
 
 A place in Heaven for thee." 
 
100 
 
 PRAYER FOR BELIEF. 
 
 " Lord I believe ; help thou mine unbelief." 
 (Mark, ix. 24.) 
 
 By thine own blessed, glorious name, 
 Thy mercies' never-waning flame ; 
 The life I at thy hand receive, 
 Lord, Father, teach me to believe ! 
 By all thy gifts of wondrous love, 
 Thy endless realms of bliss above, 
 Thy power in Heaven, in earth beneath, 
 Christ Jesus, strengthen my belief! 
 
101 
 
 THE FIRST GRIEF. 
 
 " Behold I take away from thee the desire of thine 
 eyes with a stroke." — (Ezekiel, xxiv. 16.) 
 
 * * * 'Twas not the wonted hour of 
 
 prayer, 
 Though the hushed chamber lay in still 
 
 repose, 
 And young glad hearts were meekly 
 
 bending there, 
 
102 
 
 Worshipping silently ; save when at times 
 arose 
 
 A whispered murmur as some heart ex- 
 pressed 
 
 Deep yearning hopes, that might not be 
 represt : 
 
 It was a sight to gaze on — parent and 
 child 
 
 Were bowed together there before their 
 God, 
 
 Fervent and full their hearts looked up 
 to Heaven. 
 
 Not yet with sudden stroke the chasten- 
 ing rod, 
 
103 
 
 Of Him who seeks not willingly to 
 
 wound, 
 Had blighted their young hopes, nor 
 
 time entombed 
 The love that strengthening still from 
 
 childhood's hour, 
 Knit them together. Fortune had set 
 Her seal on them,' and with unfading 
 
 flowers 
 Had strewed their path — gladness had 
 
 followed them, 
 Even through long years ! and now — 
 
 their cup o'erflowed. 
 
104 
 
 But, hark ! a sound, a voice, the voice of 
 prayer : — 
 
 List ! 'tis a father speaks, with hands up- 
 raised : — 
 
 Well do such scenes become his silvered 
 hair 
 
 And voice all tremulous — " Let God be 
 praised, 
 
 Our wanderer will return ! Great thanks 
 be given 
 
 To the all-merciful, the God of Heaven." 
 
 His voice is stayed by tears, tears of 
 most heartfelt joy, 
 
105 
 
 And a fond mother's love burst forth — 
 " My boy, my boy !" 
 
 Hear, O my God ! grant yet one blessing 
 more, 
 
 To those already to thy handmaid given ; 
 
 Though years of lengthened hope have 
 wandered o'er, 
 
 Since last I gazed upon the placid heaven 
 
 Of his blue eye, bring me my boy un- 
 changed, 
 
 Glad, joyous, free, as when his light 
 step ranged 
 
 His childhood's home. Bear him along 
 the wave 
 
106 
 
 Triumphant, as I've seen his strong arm 
 
 brave 
 The deep blue waters of the lake, that 
 
 gave 
 Back the dear image of his youthful 
 
 brow. 
 My own ! my beautiful ! I see thee 
 
 now. 
 In memory's eye. all diamond-like, the 
 
 spray 
 Clinging to thy bright curls, till dashed 
 
 away 
 With hasty gesture. Oh the deep love 
 
 that lav 
 
107 
 
 Shrined in his heart ! the joyous voice. 
 
 the tone, 
 The music of his laughter, all in one 
 Deep gush of tenderness, returns, and i. 
 O'erwhelmed, raise a grateful heart on 
 
 high, 
 And thanked the good and gracious God 
 
 of heaven 
 For all the blissful hopes that he has 
 
 given. 
 
 Then rose a young and gentle sister's 
 
 voice, 
 Let me, O Lord, in humbleness rejoice, 
 
108 
 
 Over his blest return : rny friend, my 
 guide ! 
 
 What ! in the scenes he loved, by his 
 dear side, 
 
 Shall I go forth to wander, as of yore ? 
 
 Shall his kind words, again shed sun- 
 shine o'er 
 
 Each passing hour ? — Oh ! will he love 
 me yet ? 
 
 Shall I my weakness in his strength 
 forget, 
 
 Or prize that weakness which still holds 
 him near, 
 
 To guide my footsteps or to chide my fear. 
 
109 
 
 She bowed her gentle head upon her 
 
 breast, 
 And in her silent heart she breathed the 
 
 rest 
 Of her fond prayer. — Then childhood's 
 
 voice arose, 
 And like the first unfolding of the rose, 
 Their ruby lips breathed forth a brother's 
 
 name : 
 Though unremembered, o'er their brows 
 
 there came 
 A sudden light of joy, and hands were 
 
 raised, 
 And infant lips the God of Heaven praised, 
 
110 
 
 Then innocently glad, they rose from 
 
 prayer, 
 And each went forth their joyous tasks 
 
 to share. — 
 His room, his books, the walk he called 
 
 his own, 
 The dog he loved, even the cold gray stone 
 On which his name was carved, with 
 
 choicest flowers 
 Was richly garlanded. The happy hours 
 Passed on in works of love. — He must 
 
 be near ; 
 There was no thought but joy, no throb 
 
 of fear : 
 
Ill 
 
 When, hark ! a step, a sudden cry of 
 
 dread ; — 
 He, the beloved, the expected one was dead. 
 Yes ! he had scaped the bloody battle's 
 
 plain, 
 Had buffeted unharmed the stormy main, 
 But in his early life's most sunny hour 
 Had faded, like the snow-drop's early 
 
 flower, 
 That droops not 'mid the chilling breath 
 
 of spring, 
 But 'neath a summer sun lies withering. 
 Their sun w r as set-— the sun that rose for 
 
 years 
 
112 
 
 For them so joyously, was set in tears : 
 They turned from thoughts of joy, to 
 
 thoughts of God, 
 And humbly bent to kiss the chastening 
 
 rod. 
 They had prayed fervently in joy : — in 
 
 grief, 
 Again they bent in prayer, and found 
 
 relief. 
 
113 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Another day of life and light 
 
 Is given from above ; 
 O God, how beautiful and bright 
 
 Are all thy works of love ! 
 
 Another night of peaceful rest 
 
 The Lord my God has given, 
 To one whom he has ever blessed 
 
 With happiness from heaven. 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 Food, warmth, and raiment he bestows 
 
 On his poor child of clay ; 
 Parents who soothe his infant woes, 
 
 And kiss his tears away. 
 
 Boundless, my God, thy gifts have been, 
 Boundless thy gifts shall be ; 
 
 Ear hath not heard, eye hath not seen 
 The joys that compass thee. 
 
 How great soe'er thy mercies are, 
 Here to thy children given, 
 
 More great, and, oh ! more wondrous far, 
 Are those prepared in heaven. 
 
115 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Oh ! dark and rude mysterious storm, 
 
 Expend thy fatal rage ! 
 How many names may this dread night 
 
 Have written on death's page ! 
 
 How many houseless wanderers, 
 
 'Neath the inclement sky, 
 Touched inly by thy icy breath, 
 
 Have laid them down to die. 
 
116 
 
 How many on the rolling sea 
 Have sunk beneath the wave ! 
 
 Lord, where was then thy powerful hand, 
 Omnipotent to save ? 
 
 What, shall I question of thy way, 
 
 Or thou thy purpose tell ? 
 No, Lord, whate'er thy hand has done, 
 
 I know that it is well. 
 
 Yet may I humbly pray for those, 
 Meeting the storm's rude breath ; 
 
 Lord, be with them in mighty power, 
 Whether for life or death. 
 
117 
 
 THE HOLY CHILD OF WEST- 
 MINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 Ann, third daughter of Charles I., died in her infancy, 
 when not full four years old. Being minded by those 
 about her to call upon God, even when the pangs of 
 death were upon her, " I am not able," saith she, 
 " to say my long prayer," meaning the Lord's prayer, 
 " but I will say my short one : — Lighten mine eyes, 
 O Lord, lest I sleep the sleep of death." This done, the 
 little lamb gave up the ghost. — (England's Worthies.) 
 
 BOY. 
 
 Mamma, we must tread softly here, 
 For graves are scattered round ; 
 
 And speak in whispers faint and low, 
 For this is holy ground. 
 
US 
 
 Come with me ; look at yonder tomb, 
 
 Say who is buried there ? 
 Its marble walls and sculptured flowers 
 
 Methinks show wondrous fair. 
 
 Perhaps some learned man is laid 
 
 Beneath its arch to rest, 
 Or chance some warrior, who has died 
 
 With his colours on his breast ; 
 Giving his heart's most noble blood 
 
 His native land to save ; 
 Ah, no ! now that I see it near, 
 
 It is a baby's grave. 
 Tell me. mamma, what little child 
 
119 
 
 Lies in such stately gloom ; 
 And see, a crown and sceptre too 
 
 Are sculptured on the tomb : 
 But what is this ? ah ! see, mamma, 
 
 An open Bible there ; 
 And here a little infant kneels, 
 
 In meek and humble prayer. 
 
 I wish I knew if this fair tomb 
 Is raised in empty pride, 
 
 In memory of some royal babe, 
 Who has in childhood died : 
 
 Or if its marble walls display 
 A sculptured tale of truth ; 
 
120 
 
 And that the holy infant gave, 
 
 In the spring-time of its youth, 
 Its heart to God. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Both, dearest child, of high descent 
 
 That little infant came ; 
 And see, in characters of old 
 
 You yet may read her name : 
 "Ann, England's Princess," not alone 
 
 Famed for her lofty birth ; 
 Though few her years, the infant walked 
 
 A little saint on earth. 
 
121 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 The God of all that's great and good, 
 Upon the cross of anguish died ; 
 
 A wreath of thorns upon his head, 
 A spear-wound in his side. 
 
 And scornful sinners standing round, 
 In wrath the Son of God reviled ; 
 
 While he their wicked taunts received, 
 Meek as a patient child. 
 
12 2 
 
 Why did he bleed and suffer thus ? 
 
 Was it to gain a throne on high ? 
 No, it was that a sinful race 
 
 Might not for ever die. 
 
 A throne, a Father's throne was his 
 Yet those blessed realms of day 
 
 He left, that blood and suffering 
 Might wash our sins away. 
 
 For us he left his home above, 
 For us he wandered here below, 
 
 And patiently and meekly drained 
 The bitter cup of woe. 
 
123 
 
 He suffered that we might be blessed, 
 He gave his precious life for ours ; 
 
 He trod a weary path of thorns, 
 That we might tread on flowers. 
 
 Blest Saviour ! all he asks from us, 
 For all that he for us has done, 
 
 Is " come to me, and be ye saved, 
 Give me thy heart, my son." 
 
124 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " After he had patiently endured, he obtained the 
 promise." — (Heb. vi. 15.) 
 
 List to the sound he loved so well, 
 But never more shall hear ; 
 
 It is the church's pealing bell, 
 That falls upon the ear. 
 
 Ever on Sabbath morn he came, 
 With tott'ring steps and slow, 
 
 To worship God's immortal name, 
 In his temple here below. 
 
125 
 
 In the church-yard he'd linger still, 
 
 To gaze upon each stone ; 
 In youth he drained the cup of ill, 
 
 In age he stood alone. 
 
 And as he sought the sacred part, 
 Where humblest graves are found, 
 
 Tears from his widowed, childless heart 
 Fell on the hallowed ground. 
 
 Four stately sons lay slumb'ring there, 
 The old man's joy and pride ; 
 
 And there the partner of his youth 
 Was laid their graves beside. 
 
126 
 i 
 
 Through many years his trembling feet 
 
 Sought out the house of prayer ; 
 But vacant now his humble seat, 
 A stranger's form is there. 
 
 Gladly in trusting hope he slept, 
 
 Gladly he went to rest ; 
 To those who through long years have 
 wept, 
 
 A righteous death is blest. 
 
127 
 
 THE SISTERS LAMENT. 
 
 Dear baby, thou art passed away, 
 From the gay and gladsome earth ; 
 
 Oh ! short has been thy sunny day ; 
 The spring that hailed thy birth, 
 
 And twined her flowers to deck thy head, 
 
 Strewing them o'er thy cradled bed, 
 
 Hath faded into autumn now, 
 
 And the pale cypress wreaths thy brow ; 
 
 Dear baby, thou wert bright and fair, 
 
 With thy sunny eyes and thy golden hair, 
 
128 
 
 And thy dimpled hands, and thy cherub 
 
 smile ; 
 But thou art fairer now the while ; 
 For thy blue eye in heaven is gleaming 
 
 bright, 
 And thy soft locks shine with a richer 
 
 light, 
 
 And the snowy calm of thy infant 
 
 brow 
 Is crowned with a halo of glory now, 
 And thy young, soft voice, like a clear 
 
 bell rings, 
 As the sweet song of heaven it gladly 
 
 sings ; 
 
129 
 
 Pouring forth honour, and glory, and 
 love, 
 
 To Him who reigns in the realms above ! 
 
 To Him who hath ta'en thee from earth to 
 heaven, 
 
 And washed thy soul from its earthly 
 leaven 
 
 In the fount that flowed from thy Sa- 
 viour's side, 
 
 When for thee on the cross he bled and 
 died. 
 
 And, baby, now to that holy breast 
 
 Thou hast flown and found there shel- 
 tering rest ; 
 
130 
 
 And from thence we would not have thee 
 
 back, 
 Though lonely we wander the weary track. 
 That our bleeding feet must travel o'er, 
 Ere we shall meet thee, to part no more : 
 Ere we, like thee, shall gladly rest 
 Our weary heads on a Saviour's breast, 
 Ere we shall join in the songs of love, 
 That sound through the realms of light 
 
 above. 
 Farew r ell to thee, baby ! — a long fare- 
 well ! 
 Lo ! 'tis the wail of the funeral bell. 
 Beautiful child, they bear thee away, 
 
131 
 
 To thy narrow bed, 'neath the damp, cold 
 
 clay ; 
 But thy spirit, dear baby, has winged its 
 
 flight 
 To the God of love, on his throne of 
 
 light ; 
 And thy soul is at rest through the 
 
 coming years 
 That we, dear baby, must walk in 
 
 tears. 
 
13<2 
 
 TO G R . 
 
 All slowly and sadly the night passed on, 
 Sleep would not come at my call ; 
 
 For pain had banished the peaceful rest, 
 Was wont on my lids to fall. 
 
 I sought it by many a powerful spell, 
 Which had used, in other years, 
 
 To stay, in the height of my childish ills, 
 The fountain of mv tears. 
 
133 
 
 But I turned in vain on my fevered side, 
 To gaze on the pale moon-light, 
 
 And to watch the silvery heams that shone 
 On the distant snow-clad height. 
 
 Now I trod o'er faithful memory's plains, 
 And gazed on the cherished past ; 
 
 Now I sought with a daring hand to raise 
 Veils o'er the future cast. 
 
 And each seemed formed but to chase away 
 The sleep I so envied now, 
 
 And to press a heavier weight of pain 
 Upon my aching brow. 
 
134 
 
 Then I thought of thee, dear gentle chila, 
 
 And soothing tears I wept. 
 And calmness stealing o'er my breast. 
 
 I blessed thy name and slept. 
 
135 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 " Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou hast 
 ordained strength. " — (Psalm viii. 2. v.) 
 
 Look at that aged man, with silvered 
 hair, 
 
 See, his hand trembles, while with grate- 
 ful care 
 
 And meek devotion in his earnest 
 look, 
 
 He turns the sacred page of God's own 
 book, 
 
136 
 
 His story I will tell, — 'tis short. — He 
 
 grew 
 From youth to manhood, and he never 
 
 knew 
 The word of God ; for no fond parent's 
 
 care 
 Had taught his infant lips the use of 
 
 prayer : 
 Age followed soon on youth — and then 
 
 he felt 
 " 'Tis now too late to kneel ; I never 
 
 knelt, 
 To God — I never learned in youth to 
 
 how 
 
137 
 The knee to him : He will not hear 
 
 me now." 
 
 With thoughts like these he tried to still 
 
 the fear 
 That rose before him each succeeding 
 
 year, 
 More forcibly : — for every day that 
 
 past, 
 Brought him, still unprepared, more near 
 
 his last : 
 Yet though he feared, he sought not to 
 
 amend 
 His evil way : but God will mercy 
 
 send, 
 
138 
 
 E'en to the thankless ; such his love to 
 
 save, 
 That gentlest pity he will often have, 
 On those who never come to ask in 
 
 prayer 
 A father's love, or tenderness, or care : 
 So 'twas with this old man. — One sunny 
 
 dav, 
 Chilly though bright, for it was early 
 
 May, 
 A young fair child, whose holy brow 
 
 exprest 
 That hope and love were inmates of his 
 
 breast, 
 
139 
 
 Within the depth of whose dark eye 
 
 there lay, 
 Rich promises of manhood's coming 
 
 day; 
 The tones of whose sweet voice were low 
 
 and clear, 
 Like distant music. — chanced to wander 
 
 near : 
 He saw that gray-haired man, and heard 
 
 him speak 
 Such wicked words, as blanched h's 
 
 youthful cheek : 
 " Stop, stop !" he cried ; •-" Oh, speak not 
 
 so again. 
 
140 
 
 Each word you utter gives your Saviour 
 
 pain, 
 Through your long life, you must have 
 
 read with care 
 The book of God — and seen " Thou shalt 
 
 not swear ;" 
 The old man listened sullen, and then 
 
 said, 
 "The book of God — I never yet have 
 
 read ; 
 I do not know his word — 'tis now too 
 
 late, 
 I am grown old in sin. — 'Twas not my 
 
 fate 
 
141 
 
 To love him in my youth, and now, when 
 
 gray 
 With age and pain, it is too late to pray." 
 " Too late to pray !" the child exclaimed ; 
 
 " ah no I 
 'Tis not too late to pray. — I will not go, 
 Till here, e'en here, beneath his own 
 
 bright sky, 
 You bow the knee, and raise your voice 
 
 on high, 
 Asking forgiveness. Then, for the dear 
 
 sake 
 Of him, your Lord and Saviour, who 
 
 could make 
 
142 
 
 So great a sacrifice for us, and die 
 Upon the cross in tears and agony. 
 Go now ! within your silent house, and 
 
 look 
 Into the sacred pages of his hook, 
 And read in sorrow and in trembling 
 
 there, 
 The fate that God has doomed for those 
 
 who swear." 
 Trembling, the old man said, " I cannot 
 
 read ; 
 Nothing I know of Gospel or of Creed ; 
 Of his commandments nought — and 
 
 nought of heaven." 
 
143 
 
 " 'Tis not too late. — O God, to me be 
 
 given" — 
 The child exclaimed, raising his gentle 
 
 eye, 
 Replete with holy love, — "to lead on 
 
 high, 
 E'en to thy throne, thou Saviour of 
 
 mankind, 
 An erring heart, where it may pardon 
 
 find." 
 His prayer was heard ; and now day 
 
 after day, 
 That little child stole from his home 
 
 away : 
 
144 
 
 And by that old man's side, with patient 
 
 care 
 He heard him con his lesson o'er ; and 
 
 there 
 He might be seen, with seraph brow and 
 
 look. 
 And eager finger, leaning o'er the book 
 Of God — pointing out line by line, and 
 
 word 
 Easy and simple, till with joy he heard 
 His aged pupil read, without his aid, 
 The ten commandments that his God 
 
 had made ; 
 
145 
 
 While after each, he heard him breathe 
 
 a prayer 
 That he might follow each with fervent 
 
 care : 
 And now that gentle child sees him each 
 
 day 
 Read from the book of life, and hears 
 
 him pray 
 To his Redeemer. * * * 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " Jesus said, this sickness is not unto death." — 
 (John, xi. 4.) 
 
 I will not leave my sister's side, 
 I love to watch her sleep ; 
 
 Calm, placid, are her slumbers now, 
 Dear mother, wherefore weep ! 
 
 An hour ago the fever's height 
 Raged on her aching brow ; 
 
 But see with what a holy peace 
 Slumber has crowned it now ! 
 
147 
 
 They said that if she calmly slept 
 
 The crisis would be past ; 
 Dear mother, see, she calmly sleeps ; 
 
 Let that tear be thy last. 
 
 God, who has heard our fervent prayer, 
 
 My sister's health restored ; 
 Oh may his arm so strong to save, 
 
 Be evermore adored. 
 
 I'll lay me on her pillow now, 
 And raise my heart in prayer ; 
 
 Thus when this blessed sleep is o'er, 
 She'll wake and find me there. 
 
148 
 
 Then frst on me will turn her eye, 
 On me her first pure breath ; 
 
 Lord God, I bless thee ! thou hast raised 
 My sister up from death. 
 
149 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 My mother's voice falls on mine ear, 
 
 Like to a crystal bell, 
 When she bids Heaven bless her child, 
 
 And shield and guard him well. 
 
 My mother's voice is soft and low, 
 Like breath of flowers in spring ; 
 
 When joining in the evening song, 
 Our infant voices sing. 
 
150 
 
 My mother's voice like music falls 
 
 Upon my gladdened ear, 
 When 'mid our childish merriment 
 
 Her laugh rings sweet and clear. 
 
 My mother's voice is sad and low. 
 Like whisperings of distress, 
 
 When she is forced some fault to chid£, 
 Or blame our waywardness. 
 
 But, oh the clear-voiced crystal bell 
 Such music ne'er has given, 
 
 As that her hallowed lips let fall 
 Whene'er she speaks of heaven ! 
 
151 
 
 And the sweet breath of early flowers 
 Ne'er with such sweetness came, 
 
 As w r hen her accents gently breathe 
 Our Saviour's blessed name. 
 
152 
 
 THE ORPHANS. 
 
 Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them 
 alive." — (Jeremiah, xlix. 11.) 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Poor pretty babies ! why mamma 
 Do they wear that garb of woe ? 
 
 Why do they look so sorrowful ? 
 I saw their soft eyes flow. 
 
 All o'er with tears — they will not smile, 
 Or join us in our play ; 
 
15J 
 
 We ask them ! but they only turn 
 More sorrowful away. 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Dear child, these pretty babies wear 
 
 The garb and look of woe, 
 Because their gentle mother sleeps 
 
 The cold blue w r aves below. 
 No daisied turf is made her bed, 
 
 No flowers are planted round, 
 But the wild waves above her dash, 
 
 With loud and moaning sound. 
 They passed from India's shores with her, 
 
 Across the boundless sea ; 
 
154 
 
 But by her side the stormy wave 
 
 They rode all fearlessly : — 
 The tempest raged, the winds blew high, 
 
 The shattered sail was torn ; 
 And on its dangerous track the ship 
 
 In helplessness was borne. 
 
 Then rose the voice of prayer on high, 
 And the fond mother stood, 
 
 Folding her babies to her breast, 
 Amid the raging flood : 
 
 The storm was hushed, the winds were 
 lulled, 
 She thought the danger past ; 
 
155 
 
 But death rides on the calmest breeze, 
 As on the roughest blast. 
 
 The gentle mother who had stood 
 
 Unharmed, amid the roar 
 Of tempest — suddenly had sunk, 
 
 When these rude winds were o'er : 
 The word of God went forth, and she 
 
 Must bow her down to die ; 
 Sure was her trust in Heaven, but deep 
 
 Her parting agony. 
 
 For these fair children wildly hung 
 Around her still, and prest 
 
156 
 
 Their balmy, cherub lips to hers, 
 
 Or sunk upon her breast, 
 Praying she would not leave them yet, 
 
 Alone on the deep sea ; 
 Oh, what a sad and harrowing sight 
 
 Must such a death-scene be ! 
 
 CHILD. 
 
 Alas, mamma, no wonder then 
 Their pretty cheeks are pale ; 
 
 I thought not, when I asked the cause, 
 To hear so sad a tale. 
 
 Poor babies, left without a friend, 
 How sad their lot must be ! 
 
157 
 
 Have they none to love them, dear 
 mamma ; — 
 Their father — where is he ? 
 
 MOTHER. 
 
 Yes, dearest child, they have a Friend, 
 
 One who will not forget. 
 Though their father in a foreign land 
 
 Lingers an exile yet : 
 Still there is One who loves them well, — 
 
 Thou canst not think that He, 
 Without whose will no sparrow falls, 
 
 Indifferent will be 
 
158 
 
 Unto a lot so sad as theirs : 
 
 \ No, He has seen their tears, 
 
 Has heard them lisp their fervent prayers, 
 
 Has marked their rising fears : 
 And well thou knowest, His blessed word 
 
 All steadfast is and sure : 
 He is the orphans' hope and stay, 
 
 In Him they stand secure. 
 
159 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 " Christ died for us." — (Romans, v. 5.) 
 
 My God, thou canst my conscience make 
 
 As clear as the noon-day ; 
 And in the blessed blood of Christ 
 
 Wash all my sins away ! 
 
 Make me, in mercy, Lord my God, 
 More worthy of this grace ; 
 
 That I may meet in hope — not fear, 
 My Maker face to face. 
 
1G0 
 
 Make me to cling in gratitude 
 And gladness to the thought — 
 
 Thy blessed Son upon the cross, 
 Has my redemption bought. 
 
 Though nought my own good works may be, 
 
 In him I stand secure ; 
 I look but to the cross of Christ, 
 
 And my salvation's sure. 
 
 I ask for mercies at his hand, 
 And mercies shall be given : 
 
 I rise upon his boundless love, 
 Up to the gates of heaven. 
 
161 
 
 His care at God's right hand above 
 
 Prepares a place for me ; 
 His name— the name of Jesus Christ, 
 
 Shall my salvation be. 
 
 II 
 
162 
 
 THE SAILOR BOY. 
 
 "Mother, dear mother, one blessing 
 more, 
 Ere I take my last farewell ; 
 I part from my childhood's guide and stay, 
 
 And, alas ! what tongue may tell 
 If e'er again mine ear shall drink, 
 From those hallowed lips of thine, 
 The assurance, worth 
 All else on earth, 
 That a mother's love is mine, 
 
163 
 
 " Sister, Honora, best beloved ! 
 
 Droop not when I am gone ; 
 Yet sing not thou thy gladdest song, 
 
 Seek not that bower alone. 
 
 We framed together ; let it be 
 Sacred to my memory. 
 If in God's holy book 'tis writ, 
 
 We ne'er shall meet again, 
 Then shall of me its faded boughs 
 
 A fitting type remain : 
 But if his blessed will it be 
 
 That I return once more, 
 Soon shall my zealous care for thee 
 
 Its leafy shade restore. 
 
164 
 
 " Dear mother — sister, gentlest ones, 
 
 This grief but gains in power, 
 Oh, how the yearning heart will cling, 
 
 In many an after hour, 
 To thoughts of this last — last embrace ; 
 
 And the tears ye shed for me ; 
 What balm to the poor exile's heart 
 
 Their memory will be !" 
 
 The parting hour is come, — is past, — 
 
 He leaves his father's hall, 
 He leaves the home his childhood loved, 
 
 The sacred spot where all 
 
165 
 
 His best affections had been nursed. 
 
 His heart and hopes been raised 
 Unto the God whose blessed name 
 
 His infant lips had praised : 
 He leaves his home, his childhood's 
 home, — 
 
 A mother's voice no more 
 May guide his youthful steps aright, 
 
 As in those days of yore : 
 And still a child in years, he seeks 
 
 Alone a distant shore. 
 
 From pole to pole he wanders now, 
 Seeks many a foreign land ; 
 
166 
 
 Now visits Iceland's gloomy shores, 
 
 Now India's burning strand : 
 Many he meets of evil course — 
 
 Till now he never dreamed 
 That so much wickedness could be, 
 
 Where only goodness seemed : 
 But he left not the righteous path, 
 
 For like a sacred spell, 
 In each temptation, on his ear 
 
 A mother's accents fell, 
 Gently and bland, in mild reproof, 
 
 As if she watched him still ; 
 Guarding, tho' thus so far apart, 
 
 Her cherished boy from ill. 
 
167 
 
 While thus he ranged,— within his home 
 
 His gentle mother dwelt, 
 Wafting full many a thought to him, 
 
 Or raising, as she knelt, 
 His name to heaven, and oftentimes 
 
 Tidings of joy there came : 
 Long pages, writ in lines of love, 
 
 Closed by the wanderer's name. 
 
 Years have passed on, to manhood now 
 The wanderer must have grown, 
 
 And on Honora's youthful brow, 
 Though child-like still, is thrown 
 
168 
 
 A deeper shade of thought, and soon 
 
 Dark lines are written there — 
 She trembles for a brother's life, 
 
 She clings to earnest prayer ; 
 She seeks with more intense desire 
 
 The footstool of her God ; 
 She bends to pray 
 His hand to stay, 
 
 The heavy chastening rod : 
 She ventures not to tell her grief, 
 
 But marks, in terror wild, 
 The trembling of her mother's lip, 
 
 As she names her absent child. 
 
109 
 
 Oh silent now is his loved home, 
 
 Around the household hearth 
 Lingers no more the ringing tones 
 
 Of joyousness and mirth : 
 And on his parent's gentle brow, 
 
 Such suffering look is cast, 
 As the young mother sends on high 
 
 When to her heart is clasped 
 The fair but faded form of him, 
 
 Her pride — her eldest born, 
 Torn from her wreathing arms away, 
 
 Even in childhood's morn. 
 And where was he — the wanderei ? 
 
 While thus a deep'ning gloom 
 
170 
 
 Hung o'er the hearts he loved the most, — 
 
 Was his a distant tomb ? 
 Sank he beneath the poisonous breath, 
 
 Of India's burning sky ; 
 Or slept he in an ocean grave, 
 
 Where waves his lullaby 
 In loud and ceaseless moaning poured, 
 
 Above his dreamless sleep ? 
 No ! he had braved the angry storm, 
 
 Had watched the raging deep, 
 When thunder rolled, and the dark wave 
 
 Rose foaming, mountain high : 
 But the word of God had not gone 
 forth, 
 
171 
 
 He was not thus to die ; 
 Nor was he laid to silent rest 
 
 Beneath the palm-tree shade ; 
 No stranger hand, 
 On foreign strand, 
 
 His narrow home had made. 
 Such had not been his doom — but he 
 
 Had found a living grave, 
 Within a dungeon's loathsome cell, 
 
 (No friendly hand to save, 
 No kindly voice to whisper hope,) 
 
 The exiled strippling lay, 
 Wasting within a prison-walls 
 
 His early life away. 
 
17 2 
 
 Was it this thought that on his cheek 
 
 Had shed a hectic hue ? 
 Was it this thought that dimmed and sunk 
 
 His eye of joyous blue ? 
 Was it for self he pined and drooped, 
 
 Within his silent cell ? 
 No ! No ! — he thinks of those alone 
 
 His spirit loves so well. 
 He drooped, and they too drooped apace, 
 
 But hours of joy are near : 
 Oh, never yet to heartfelt prayer 
 
 God turned unwilling ear : 
 His prison-doors are opened wide, — 
 
 Upon his native shore 
 
173 
 
 He stands, and with a grateful heart 
 
 Owns all his sorrows o'er. 
 Within that home, so silent late, 
 
 A well-known step is heard, 
 A voice — a long-lost voice has sent 
 
 One single cherished word ; 
 In gentle whisper through its halls 
 
 Softly and low it came ; 
 But it fell like lightning on the ear, 
 
 As it spoke a mother's name ; 
 A sister's too — and quick as thought 
 
 These cherished ones are prest, 
 Clasped in affection's long embrace, 
 
 Upon the wanderer's breast. 
 
174 
 
 TO G R . 
 
 " God had mercy upon him, and not on him only, 
 but on me also ; that I might not have sorrow upon 
 sorrow." — (Philippians, ii. 27.) 
 
 My blessed child ! and I was far 
 When sickness round thee hung, 
 
 And fever on thy cherub lips 
 Its baneful influence flung. 
 
 I was not near to mark with dread 
 Thy blooming cheek grow pale, 
 
 To bend in fear and trembling o'er 
 Thy melancholy wail. • 
 
175 
 
 I was not by thy cradled side, 
 To soothe thine hours of pain ; 
 
 It might have been, my blessed child, 
 We ne'er had met again. 
 
 Death might have tamed that joyous heart, 
 Have claimed thee as its own, 
 
 Have sunk thy voice to whisp'rings low, 
 Then hushed its gentle tone. 
 
 Death might have pal'd thy dimpled cheek, 
 Have dimmed thy loving eye ; 
 
 For death still nips the fairest flowers, 
 And all alike may die. 
 
176 
 
 But prayer rose from thy mother's heart, 
 And one that loves not less ; 
 
 And the great God of mercy spared 
 Our hearts this bitterness. 
 
i:7 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Jesus, whose blissful home is heaven, 
 To wandering on this earth beneath, 
 
 Thirty years of life has given, 
 To fix and strengthen our belief: 
 
 Jesus who laboured thus for me, 
 
 Teach me to labour unto thee. 
 
 Jesus bore upon this earth 
 
 Toil and suffering, grief and pain, 
 
 To secure our second birth, 
 
 Sinners being born again : 
 12 
 
178 
 
 Jesus who suffered thus for me, 
 Teach me to endure for thee. 
 
 Upon the cross my Saviour died, 
 Washing all my sins away ; 
 
 "It is finished," he cried, 
 
 Man's redemption's sealed to-day. 
 
 Jesus — Lord — who died for me, 
 
 Teach me how to live for thee. 
 
179 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! that sound, 'tis the wood- 
 lark's note, 
 And see where the happy songsters float, 
 Beating the air with their free, glad wings, 
 And carolling forth their welcomings 
 To early flowers — for the snow-drop's 
 
 head 
 Is rising now from its earthy bed, 
 And the pale green of its fairy stem 
 Is crowned by a snowy diadem ; 
 
180 
 
 And the silv'ry birch is bending now. 
 'Neath weight of buds on its slender bough, 
 And the hazel's graceful catkins droop 
 Their feath'ry forms o'er the gushing 
 
 brook. 
 No longer bound by its icy chain, 
 But winding its glad free course again, 
 Through hill and wood, and the joyous 
 
 earth 
 Welcomes anew the spring's glad birth : 
 Welcome, thrice w r elcome, ye sunny 
 
 hours ! 
 Welcome, thrice welcome, my fair wild 
 
 flowers ! 
 
1S1 
 
 I love the spring for the shade of green 
 It casts on every well-known scene, — 
 For the mossy bank, the murm'ring rill, 
 The music of the wooded hill ; 
 But, oh, more than this, I love the 
 
 spring, 
 That it comes a herald of glittering wing, 
 Spreading sure tidings, far and wide, 
 That glowing summer, in all its pride 
 Of beauty and richness and depth of 
 
 shade, 
 By its heavy masses of foliage made, 
 Is near at hand, to crown and bless 
 This lovely world with loveliness. 
 
1S2 
 
 I know not — but it seems to me, 
 As spring might well an emblem be 
 Of this our life, — aye changing still, 
 From sun to shade, from good to ill ; 
 But summer, oh ! summer was surely given 
 To picture forth the eternal heaven : — 
 Calm, cloudless, of unchequered ray 
 Is the sunny light of a summer's day, 
 And the wide expanse of the azure sky 
 Is a fitting type of eternity : 
 Then welcome, bright and joyous spring ! 
 Welcome thy certain heralding 
 Of coming joy, of buds and flowers, 
 Of sunny spots, and shady bowers. 
 
1S3 
 
 Of stately trees, in foliaged pride ! 
 Welcome, thrice welcome, my fair spring- 
 tide ! 
 Fair in thyself, but, oh ! brighter far 
 That thou art summer's harbinger. 
 
1S4 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON A FAMILY WHO, IN THE YEAR 1826, WERE DROWNED 
 BY THE RAPID ADVANCE OF THE TIDE. 
 
 They had gone forth in gladness all, 
 To bathe in the dark blue sea ; 
 
 And with the foam of the rising waves 
 They played right merrily. 
 
 Little they dreamed of coming fate ; 
 
 The sea was calm, the sky 
 Betokened peace, how r could they deem 
 
 This was their hour to die ? 
 
185 
 
 They were a gay and joyous band, 
 Three little bright-haired girls, 
 
 Whose eyes of deep and lust'rous light 
 Looked out from waving curls. 
 
 And one of yet more tender age, 
 
 A baby young as fair, 
 Clasped to a faithful guardian breast, 
 
 By a fond mother's care. 
 
 She bore it through the whitening foam, 
 And smiled to mark its glee, 
 
 As o'er the waste of w r aters wide 
 Its eye glanced fearlessly. 
 
IS6 
 
 Oh, what a little space may turn 
 
 All gladness into woe ! 
 The angry tide conies rushing on, 
 
 To lay that bright band low. 
 
 Vain, vain all effort, vain all haste, 
 
 In every rising wave 
 Is borne a call that summons them, 
 
 Each to a wat'ry grave. 
 
 " Save me, my mother ! save thy child !" 
 
 One infant voice arose : 
 " More dark. and. oh. more terrible, 
 
 The deep'ning water grows !" 
 
1S7 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" a sister's voice replies, 
 " Ch add not grief to fear ; 
 
 Dear mother, see what God has sent, 
 A sheltering place is near. 
 
 " Could we but reach that jutting rock, 
 
 Safely we might remain, 
 Until this giant strength of tide 
 
 Is carried back again." 
 
 These brief words, like a gleam of joy, 
 
 Broke in on her despair ; 
 With hurrying step she gains the rock, 
 
 And lays her infant there 1 . 
 
188 
 
 Again, again, through dashing surf, 
 Her children's side she seeks : — 
 
 O God ! that cry of agony, 
 
 What thrilling dread it spreads ! 
 
 They had clung together, hand in hand, 
 But waves came fast and strong ; 
 
 And the mother sees, while yet afar, 
 Her fairest home along. 
 
 " Help ! help ! oh save me !" cried the child: 
 
 No mortal hand can save ; 
 Fast to the ocean's depths 'tis borne, 
 
 Upon the foaming wave. 
 
189 
 
 With frantic force the mother bears 
 Two to the sheltering rock ; 
 
 Falt'ring more faint at every step, 
 Beneath the billow's shock. 
 
 64 Spare, spare," she cried, " in mercy spare, 
 
 My yet surviving three !" 
 She spoke and o'er their hope and stay 
 
 The w r aves dashed furiously. 
 
 Then rose the voice of the little child, 
 
 Whose eager eye had seen 
 
 » 
 
 The only spot where they had hoped 
 That shelter might have been. 
 
190 
 
 '• Mother, dear mother," thus she cried, 
 * " This is no hour for fear ; 
 In darkest trials like to this, 
 The hand of God is near. 
 
 " Amid the fierce and chilling wave, 
 
 His arm is our defence ; 
 Oh, cling no more to earthly hope, 
 
 Turning to Omnipotence. 
 
 " One only thought in this dark hour 
 Can pale my cheek with dread ; — 
 
 My father ! oh, what mighty grief, 
 Hangs o'er thy cherished head ! 
 
 
191 
 
 " How wilt thou bear thy lonely lot, 
 How brook thy silent hearth ? 
 
 This morn its echo to our laugh 
 Was its last sound of mirth. 
 
 "Then let us pray, for his dear sake, 
 That God may still be near, 
 
 To comfort and uphold his soul, 
 Amid its grief and fear/' 
 
 She knelt upon the less'ning rock ; 
 
 Higher the dark waves grew, 
 Till o'er her meek head, bending down, 
 
 Their glitt'ring spray they threw. 
 
192 
 
 "Up, up, my child!" in frantic dread, 
 The wretched mother cried ; 
 
 She saved awhile her bright-haired one, 
 But the dear baby died. 
 
 It 'scaped her now enfeebled hold, 
 
 It sank amid the wave ; 
 And the poor mother shrieked its knell, 
 
 Above a foaming grave. 
 
 She had saved awhile, 'twas but awhile 
 Her bright-haired one from death ; 
 
 The w r aves claimed other victims yet, 
 And chilled her with their breath. 
 
 
193 
 
 More faint she grew, she could not strive 
 Against their weight, and they, 
 
 Mocking the mother's agony, 
 Bore the fair child away. 
 
 She floated on the billow's breast 
 Her hands still clasped in prayer ; 
 
 Could angels die — their dying scene 
 Might have been pictured there. 
 
 On, on, the waves rolled on apace ; 
 
 The mother held on high 
 
 Her last surviving babe, — in vain, — 
 
 Together they shall die. 
 13 
 
194 
 
 Unconscious, for the grasp of fear 
 
 Had ta'en all sense away, 
 Like a flower upon the mother's breast, 
 
 Struck to the heart she lay. 
 
 Oh ! who the mother's grief may paint, 
 Clasping her drooping child ? 
 
 Or who shall marvel if her words 
 Rose fearfully and wild ? 
 
 "Father of all, thine eye is closed 
 
 In this dread hour of fear ; 
 Thou couldst not mark such agony, 
 
 And yet refuse to hear. 
 
195 
 
 "My God, my God, desert me not; — 
 
 Oh, spare this little one ! 
 And yet, — all gracious God of heaven, 
 
 Thy blessed will be done." 
 
 Sudden, her eye had sunk subdued, — 
 She bowed her humbled head ; — 
 
 She knew she clasped in childless arms 
 Her gentle infant — dead. 
 
 No more she prayed to God for life, 
 Nor strove against the tide ; 
 
 And the lifeless and the living one 
 Down to the ocean glide. 
 
196 
 
 Nought was relaxed that tender clasp, 
 Though the baby felt no more ; 
 
 And on their chilling breasts the waves 
 To death the mother bore. 
 
 She raised her gentle heart to heaven, 
 For strength to her was given ; 
 
 She called upon the name of God, 
 And gave her soul to heaven. 
 
197 
 
 G R 'S HYMN. 
 
 Father of all, to thee I bend, 
 
 The sinner's hope, the infant's friend ; 
 
 Father of all 5 to thee I fly, 
 
 The Saviour through eternity 
 
 Of all who seek thee out in prayer, 
 
 Of all who ask thy guardian care, 
 
 Of all who raise a pleading eye 
 
 In trusting faithfulness on high, 
 
 Of all who seek their way to win, 
 
 From out the fatal paths of sin. 
 
198 
 
 Father of all, to thee I bend, 
 
 The sinner's hope, the infant's friend ; 
 
 Thou wilt not turn away thine eye, 
 
 Thou wilt not leave my soul to die ; 
 
 Worthless, unworthy as I am, 
 
 The blood of thy most holy Lamb 
 
 Has washed, has cleansed my faults 
 
 away, 
 Has formed anew this sinful clay, 
 And reigning now, by thy right hand, 
 He trains for heaven a righteous band. 
 
 Father of all, to thee I bend, 
 
 The sinner's hope, the infant's friend ; 
 
199 
 
 Lord make me of that righteous band, 
 Lord guide me to that sainted land, 
 Where countless angels hourly sing 
 Hosannas to the mighty King, 
 Who reigns in heaven, in earth and 
 
 air, 
 Whose wondrous works are every where ; 
 Whose mercies, boundless as his love, 
 Can fit me for a home above. 
 
 Father of all, to thee I bend, 
 The sinner's hope, the infant's friend : 
 Let me not tread that path alone 
 That leads to thee ; thine eye has known 
 
200 
 
 All my past life, and thou hast seen 
 
 What thy frail child had surely been, 
 
 Without that gentle parent's care 
 
 Who trained his early thoughts to prayer ; 
 
 And thou hast seen, Lord, from on high, 
 
 How truly, fondly, faithfully 
 
 Those bonds are weaved which thou 
 
 hast blest 
 Deep in each Brother's faithful breast ; — 
 Lord, be those bonds which thou hast 
 
 given 
 Unsevered, when we meet in heaven ! 
 
201 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 I love the summer sun, that sheds 
 
 Its golden rays of light ; 
 I love the stars that gleam amid 
 
 The canopy of night. 
 
 No ray upon this lower world 
 The glitt'ring sun lets fall, 
 
 No twinkling star but does proclaim 
 That God is all in all. 
 
-2i)2 
 
 And, oh ! I love the bright wild flowers, 
 Their fair and slender stems, 
 
 And the half opening buds that form 
 Their simple diadems. 
 
 Each slender stem, each fragile leaf, 
 
 Each opening bud betrays 
 The beauty of the hand of God, 
 
 In all his wondrous ways. 
 
 I love to hear, at evening's close, 
 The blackbird's liquid note ; 
 
 Or like to waving fairy hells, 
 The red-breast's music float. 
 
203 
 
 No warbler pours its strain along 
 The depths of the green wood, 
 
 But seems, in its gushing song, to tell 
 That God is very good. 
 
 The sun, the moon, the singing birds, 
 The merest weed or flower 
 
 That blossoms but at his command, 
 Speaks his unrivalled power. 
 
204 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 11 Thou art my God ; early will I seek thee." 
 (Psalm lxiii. 1.) 
 
 Christ Jesus, Saviour of mankind, 
 
 Hear a poor infant pray ; 
 I long to tread the righteous path, 
 
 If thou wilt lead the way. 
 
 Lead me, my Father, lead thy child, 
 Even at thy throne to how ; 
 
 And stamp the cross of holiness 
 Upon his youthful brow. 
 
205 
 
 Many, of years as few as mine, 
 Are brought to see thy power, 
 
 And to declare, in lisping tones, 
 Thy praises every hour. 
 
 Oh ! let me follow in their path, — 
 The path that leads to thee ; 
 
 Let the morning of my life be pure, 
 That pure its close may be. 
 
206 
 
 THE MISSIONARY'S GRAVE. 
 
 Come hither, R n, I have met 
 
 With a pretty tale to-day, 
 One like to those you love the best.- 
 
 Ah ! there, your favo'rite play 
 All suddenly is laid aside, 
 
 It pleases now no more : — 
 Well, listen^ dearest child, and know 
 
 That upon India's shore, 
 To the dark tribes of that far land, 
 
 The Bible is unknown : 
 
207 
 
 They kneel not to the Christian's God ; 
 
 They worship wood and stone ; 
 And many are the fearful rites 
 
 Their darkened hearts employ, 
 As offerings to the heathen's god. 
 
 Such as, my gentle boy, 
 Would curdle thy young blood to hear ; 
 
 But with these scenes of woe, 
 My present tale has nought to do : — 
 
 It chanced that, long ago, 
 When wand 'ring through the gorgeous 
 west, 
 
 A youthful stranger came 
 
208 
 
 To a city that his swarthy guide 
 
 Called by a Christian name : 
 Its silver domes and towers of gold 
 
 Shone with a dazzling light, 
 Reflecting back with burning ray 
 
 The sun's meridian height : 
 But yet in vain the golden beams, 
 
 Like sunny smiles, were shed, 
 For all seemed cheerless, sad, and still 
 
 As the city of the dead. 
 And woman's eye was dimmed with grief, 
 
 And childhood's ready tear 
 Flowed silent, and the warrior band 
 Leant with dark brow and idle hand, 
 
209 
 
 Upon the disregarded brand, 
 Or on the bloodless spear. 
 
 Mutely the wanderer stood and gazed, 
 
 When, lo ! with solemn toll, 
 A muffled bell speaks to his ear 
 
 Of a departing soul : 
 And then an earnest eager crow r d 
 
 Came hast'ning blindly on, 
 And bore him, in their hurrying course, 
 
 Half willingly along : 
 Some wearing wreaths of flow'rets came, 
 
 And some with jewels crowned, 
 14 
 
210 
 
 And many scattered jessamine leaves, 
 
 And spice and perfume round ; 
 Until without the city gate, 
 
 They bowed them down in prayer : 
 Well might the stranger wond'ring gaze, 
 
 A Christian's grave was there ; 
 Then rose again the frantic wail, 
 
 And thus he questioned low, 
 Of an old warrior by his side, 
 
 Why all these signs of woe . — 
 " Say, has there passed from this glad earth 
 
 One of a mighty line ; 
 That thus a nation bends in grief, 
 
 Beside yon sainted shrine : 
 
211 
 
 Fell the loved chieftain of your tribe ?" 
 
 The warrior answered thus. 
 While pointing to a reverend form, 
 
 " Our chieftain mourns with us ; 
 His kingly robes are cast aside, 
 
 He bears no state to-day, 
 But bent, his humblest slave beside, 
 
 Kneels on the earth to pray : — 
 Farther I may not answer now, 
 
 But, stranger, wend with me ; 
 Or, stay, seest thou the lonely cot 
 
 Beneath the tall palm-tree ? 
 Go rest thee there ; I may not leave 
 
 Yet for awhile the sod, 
 
212 
 
 Where, Christian, we are met to pray, 
 
 Unto the Christian's God." 
 He bowed his stately head, and w r aved 
 
 The stranger from his side, 
 And soon to prayer's meek accents sank 
 
 His lofty voice of pride. 
 
 Now, when the sacred rites are o'er, 
 
 The Indian's kindly breast 
 Gave forth its friendly welcoming, 
 
 To his young Christian guest ; — 
 " Stranger," he said, " when yonder bell 
 
 Tolled for this solemn day, 
 You questioned if a chieftain's soul 
 
213 
 
 Was passing hence away, 
 That thus we mourned ! No, stranger, no ; 
 
 You saw our mighty chief, 
 Humbled like us beneath the power, 
 
 The mastery of grief: 
 You saw him, on that lowly grave, 
 
 Bending a willing knee, 
 In token that there slumbered there 
 
 A mightier than he. 
 
 '• Brief is the tale — ten years ago 
 
 To images of gold 
 We gave our worship, wood and stone, 
 
 Gods that were bought and sold ; 
 
214 
 
 But one there came, of British birth. 
 
 From his own native shore, 
 To teach us of the one true God. 
 
 Who reigns for evermore ; 
 A God of might, yet full of love 
 
 For the lovers of his name, 
 Unchanged, unchangeable through time, 
 
 Eternally the same : 
 His was the ever-powerful arm, 
 
 That raised this wondrous earth, 
 And his the love that gave for us, 
 
 One of immortal birth, 
 To weep, and agonize, and die 
 
 Upon the cross of death, 
 
215 
 
 Breathing forth love to our lost race, 
 E'en with his latest breath. 
 
 "Yes, stranger, yes, all this and more 
 
 He taught our hearts to know ; 
 But death's dread warrant had gone forth, 
 
 It laid our best friend low : 
 Yet, stranger, though we see him not, 
 
 His precious words remain. 
 And this our boast and privilege — 
 
 We bear the Christian's name. 
 Three years ago, on this same day, 
 
 Stranger, the white man died ; 
 Three times at twelve moons' interval 
 
We've bent his grave beside. 
 And still, through each successive year, 
 
 Upon this sacred day, 
 We plead to heaven, to Christ, to God, 
 
 To wash our sins away !" 
 May he in mercy hear the prayer 
 
 Of the poor Indian's breast ; 
 And grant to his benighted land 
 
 The day-star of the blest. 
 
217 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Father, remember me, thy child, 
 
 In every coming hour : 
 I feel my weakness, strengthen me 
 
 With thy almighty power. 
 
 Remember me when my young heart 
 With every bliss o'erflows, 
 
 And all the world's best, dearest joys 
 Thy bounteous hand bestows. 
 
21 
 
 And teach me then to raise my soul 
 In grateful praise to thee ; 
 
 Oh, in the careless day of joy, 
 Father, remember me ! — 
 
 Remember me when sorrow comes, 
 To blight this buoyant heart ; 
 
 For I, my God, may live to see 
 Its every bliss depart. 
 
 And lead me then to seek relief, 
 My God, from only thee ; 
 
 Oh, in the bitter hours of grief, 
 Father, remember me ! — 
 
219 
 
 Remember me when, on the bed 
 
 Of sickness and of death, 
 My straining eyeball shuns the light, 
 
 And fails my struggling breath. 
 Then, then, oh, grant thy sinking child, 
 
 Sure hope and help in thee ; 
 Great Jesus in the hour of death, 
 
 Save and remember me ! 
 
220 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 I know, when I lie down to sleep, 
 That God is near my bed ; 
 
 That angels watch, by his command, 
 Around my infant head. 
 
 I know, when I kneel down to pray, 
 That still my God is there ; 
 
 He hears my word, he sees my thoughts, 
 And will accept my prayer. 
 
221 
 
 I know, when I go forth to play 
 
 That God is by my side ; 
 Through every hour, at every step, 
 
 He is my guard and guide. 
 
 I know his eye sees every thing, 
 
 In earth, and sea, and air ; 
 That he, in darkness as in light, 
 
 Can see me every where. 
 
 Then let me guard each thought, each word, 
 Lest he should chance to find 
 
 Evil within a heart that should 
 Be gentle, meek, and kind. 
 
222 
 
 THE SABBATH HYMN. 
 
 List to that murm'ring sound, the name 
 
 Of God is fitly praised ; — 
 It is the solemn sabbath hymn, 
 
 By infant voices raised. 
 
 Gaze on, it is a lovely sight, 
 For there, linked hand in hand, 
 
 The little worshippers around 
 Their gentle mother stood. 
 
223 
 
 And on each infant's dimpled cheek, 
 And on each brow is set, 
 
 A seal of budding holiness, 
 Shall bear rich blossom yet. 
 
 For depths of holy tenderness 
 Lurk in each gentle eye ; 
 
 And soon a mother's earnest care 
 Shall raise that love on high. 
 
 Gaze on, it is a lovely sight 
 Those beings, young as fair, 
 
 Are bound by ties of brotherhood 
 One family is there, 
 
224 
 
 At morn, at eve, and oftentimes, 
 Throughout the summer day, 
 
 We hear their infant voices rise 
 Together, when they pray. 
 
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