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 A WESTERN FOREST 
 
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 THE AUTHOR 
 
 OF 
 
 LOGAN COUNTY, KY. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR BY J. W. GRINTER & SON. 
 
 1868. 
 
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 A WESTERN FOREST 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOK 
 
 OF 
 
 LOGAN COUNTY, KY. • 
 
 PRINTFJS:) FOK THE AUTHOR BY J. W. QRINTEft tt SON, 
 
 1868. 
 
^JV' 
 
tduti. 
 
 Thk little work here presented to the public may prop- 
 erly be considered as a supplement to one published eight 
 years since, under the title of ''Rural Minstrelsy," as the 
 main features of the two bear to each other a strong resem- 
 blance. 
 
 It will doubtless be thought by many that this little 
 volume is too egotistic; that the writer parades himself 
 and his troubles too prominently before his readers, and 
 that the sombre passage? which so frequently occur, imply 
 a want of resignation to the divine will of the great Dis- 
 poser of human events. The writer admits that many of 
 the pieces contained in the present w^ork were written in 
 seasons of great despondency, and are, perhaps, too faithful 
 transcripts of his feelings at such times to be interesting 
 to some into whose hands his book may chance to fall ; 
 and yet not a few of those same pieces may strike a respon- 
 sive chord in the bosoms of some who, like himself, have 
 been tried in the furnace of affliction. 
 
 But whatever of tender feeling or sympathy these may 
 experience, as the private troubles of an individual seldom 
 concern the public, so by the public they will seldom be 
 regarded with interest ; and perhaps it would have been 
 better had those portions of the work which seem to be the 
 offspring of a complaining and desponding spirit been of 
 less frequent occurrence, or suppressed altogether. 
 
 With much diffidence, and many misgivings, the author 
 sends out into the world his unpretending little book, ho- 
 ping that a generous public will throw the broad mantle 
 of their charity over its numerous imperfections. 
 
PAGK 
 
 A Night Adventure , 7 
 
 A Deathbed Scene 11 
 
 The loving Sister 1*^ 
 
 rht' Hopc^ and Anticipations of Youth often illusory. 15 
 
 The true Riches 16 
 
 The Wanderer I7 
 
 Verses for Miss Martha E. H * ^ * 's Album 18 
 
 To Miss Alice Roberts 19 
 
 Lines written on the first Anniversary of my Father's" 
 
 decease 20 
 
 Verses occasioned by the sudden decease of a distin- 
 guished vocalist 22 
 
 The Child of Poverty 23 
 
 Faith, Hope and Love 24 
 
 On m^' Sixty-fourth Birthday 24 
 
 On the same Subject 25 
 
 On my Sixty- lifth Birthday 26 
 
 The Chrisiian Pilgrim 26 
 
 The Ruling Passion strong in iJeath 27 
 
 The Grave 30 
 
 The Contrast 31 
 
 A Morning Hymn 32 
 
 A Hymii of Thanksgiving 33 
 
 A Hymn 34 
 
 An Evening Hymn ,. 35 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGK 
 
 Another 35 
 
 Evening Hymn No. 3 37 
 
 Premonitions 38 
 
 A Prayer for a clean Heart 3f) 
 
 A Prayer for Resignation, Faith and Steadfastness 39 
 
 Tlie Land of the Living 40 
 
 The Reproving Voice 40 
 
 The little Star 41 
 
 On the Sixty-sixth Anniversary of my Birth 42 
 
 Verses written in anticipation of the death, of Johnetta 
 
 Parker : ....; 44 
 
 Not dead, but removed 45 
 
 Lines suggested by the death of Henry Hollingswoi-th 46 
 
 The Stiicken and Desponding One 47 
 
 Angel Whispers ; or, Pray and Trust 49 
 
 O talk to me of Heaven 50 
 
 Little Ellen Hogan 50 
 
 To Miss Lizzie 51 
 
 A Eulogistic "Pome" on T 52 
 
 An Acrostic 53 
 
 Ministering Spirits 54 
 
 Thoughts suggested by an Afternoon Ramble in Au- 
 tumn 55 
 
 A Fragment 57 
 
 On Fashion 58 
 
 Winter 59 
 
 The Creator seen in His Works 60 
 
A NIGHT ADVENTURE 
 
 The last faint glimmerings of departing day 
 
 Were slowly fading in the west away ; 
 
 O'er the broad vale the rising vapors spread., 
 
 While on the eastern mountain's lofty head 
 
 The sun's last rays a lingering radiance shed ; 
 
 And, save the restless ocean's ceaseless roar, 
 
 As dashed its waves against the rock-bound shore^ 
 
 Or boding raven's hoarse and fitful croak, 
 
 No sound the melancholy stillness broke. 
 
 When to a churchyard near I took my way, 
 
 Where friends whom once I loved now mouldering lay 
 
 Beneath the yew trees' deep funereal shade 
 
 Where oft in childhood's happy days we played. 
 
 There, sadly singling out from all the rest, 
 
 The grave of one whom I had loved the best, 
 
 I knelt beside the Scicred turf-clad bed. 
 
 And drooping on the cold damp stone my head. 
 
 Thought long and mournfully upon the dead. 
 
 Long on that loved one's tomb I mourned and eighed 
 
 Because we had not both together died ; 
 
 Then, in the anguish of my heart I cried, 
 
 (Though well I knew the wish w^as all in vain, 
 
 My words I felt unable to restrain,) 
 
 "O could I l)ut Ix^hold that angel face! 
 
 Once more my Mary's lovely form embrace!'' 
 
 While thus, to give my burdened heart relief; 
 I sadly uttered to the winds my grief, 
 A voice 1 heard : (so hollow was the sound, . 
 it seemed to come from underneath the ground :) 
 •'Wouldst thou," it said, "again thy Mary see? 
 i'iJ guide thee to her ; rise and follow me." 
 
8 RURAL MUSE. 
 
 I started, raised my head, and through the gloom « 
 Perceived a figure standing near the tomb. 
 With awe the tall and spectral form I viewed 
 Which thus intruded on my solitude. 
 Clad in a sable robe that reached the ground, 
 And round the waist was with a girdle bound. 
 Like one it seemed, from some monastic cell 
 Where monkish gloom and superstition dwelL 
 Drawn closely o^er the head, a cowl or hood 
 The features hid. All motionless it stood, 
 And seemed, although the face I could not see, 
 To gaze with mournful earnestness on me. 
 At length it spoke.— Methinks I still can hear 
 That voice so hollow, sounding in my ear — 
 *'Wouldst thou,^^ again it said, ''thy Mary see? 
 I'll be thy guide: arise and follow me.^' 
 
 As if by some resistless Power impelled, 
 Which o'er my mind a strange, strong influence held^ 
 I rose and followed my mysterious guide — 
 Whose phantom figure seemed in air to glide — 
 Until we reached, at length, a river's side: 
 A boat was there ; my guide went in before : 
 I followed, and we drifted from the shore. 
 
 No flapping sail was heard, nor sweeping stroke 
 Of oars the deep, the awful silence broke ; 
 No friendly star was in the sky that night, 
 But a strange, sickly phosphorescent light 
 Gave objects indistinctly to the sight ! 
 Pale meteors slowly glided to and fro, 
 And distant thunders muttered long and low ; 
 While, ever and anon, the night wind's moan 
 Was heard, like some unquiet spirit's groan ! 
 
 Still slowly drifting on, at length we passed 
 Into a cavern, horrible and vast : 
 A yawning sepulchre it seemed, where Night 
 Dominion held, with undisputed right. 
 From its high arch, the moisture, trickling slow, 
 Pell, drop by drop, into the stream below ; 
 And save the echoes of that hollow sound, 
 A horrid, deathlike stillness reigned around. 
 
9 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 At length a rush of wings I seemed to hear, 
 And deep and dismal groans fell on my ear: 
 By slow degrees, a strange, dull, lurid light 
 Revealed surrounding objects to my sight ; 
 From the black stream sulphureous flames arose, 
 And heat, as when the dread Sirocco blows ; 
 Strange and unearthly shapes came flitting by : 
 While some more frightful still, around would fly, 
 And others, stooping as they hovered near, 
 Hissed horrid blasphemies into my ear ! 
 All this I saw and heard. I knew full well, 
 That place was neither more nor less than— HELL ! 
 Still I lived on, supported by a spell 
 That gave me strength I nb'er had known before ; 
 A strength those sights, those horrors to endure ; 
 Though what, in those abodes of wretchedness 
 I saw and heard, no language can express. 
 
 There black Despair spread wide her raven wings, 
 And busy Conscience plied her thousand stings. 
 No cooling draught the torturing thirst assuaged. 
 That ever in those fallen spirits raged, 
 As racked with anguish and unceasing pains. 
 They gnawed their tongues, and fiercely clanked their 
 
 chains. 
 Shriek answered shriek, and groan to groan replied, 
 As on they rolled upon that burning tide. 
 Forever dying, yet not doomed to die! 
 Oft from them burst this lamentable cry. 
 As high their blazing arms they wildly tossed, 
 "Lost ! lost ! forever and forever lost !" 
 While like ten thousand mocking tongues around, 
 Hell's spacious caverns echoed back the sound. 
 
 As on the frightful, dismal scene I gazed ; 
 On hideous forms, and flames that fiercely blazed ; 
 These words, these startling words, fell on my ear, 
 '*Thy Mary dost thou seek? behold her here!" 
 I started, turned, and by the flames fierce glare, 
 A shape I saw, the image of despair ! 
 It nearer drew ; I gazed upon the face, 
 But could not one remembered feature trace: 
 
10 BUBAL MUSK 
 
 Again tlie voice I heard, "Hast thou forgot V 
 Thy Mary's face dost thou rememl)er not? 
 More closely scan these features : look and see. 
 And say if thou dost noio remember me.'^ 
 I looked ; I reeled ; my brain appeared on fire ; 
 But, as the dark, repulsive form drew nigher, 
 My sight grew dim, and in a swoon I fell, 
 While peals of laughter shook the walls of hell. 
 
 At length to consciousness again I woke, 
 Though still the spell that bound me was not broke 
 But O what glories now burst on my sight. 
 And filled my ravished senses with delight! 
 Bright fields and valleys clothed in living green, 
 And verdant groves, and flowering shrubs were seen, 
 While murmuring streams their pure, clear waters roiled 
 O'er flashing gems, and sparkling sands of gold ; 
 (Or such they seemed ;) and flowers of beauty rare 
 Flung their rich fragrance on the air ; 
 While like a thousand wind-harps, sweet, the breeze 
 Now rose, now died away among the trees. 
 
 And beings bright were there ^glorious sight^ 
 Arrayed in dazzling robes of purest white ; 
 While some in myrtle bower or sylvan shade, 
 With golden harps celestial music made. 
 Others, sweet heavenly converse seemed to hold, 
 As slowly by a river's side they strolled. 
 Where crystal waters, broad, and deep, and bright; 
 Like liquid silver, flashed upon the sight ! 
 
 While on this glorious, heavenly scene I gazed^ 
 Enraptured, yet bewildered and amazed; 
 A voice I heard, sweet musical and clear, 
 *'Wouldst thou thy Mary see? Behold her here !'' 
 
 As like tlie music of the heavenly spheres, 
 These words, so sweet, so thrilling, reached my ears. 
 I turned to see the speaker : near my side. 
 Stood she whom once I hoped to call my bride. 
 My Mary's features instantly I knew ; 
 Her queenly form ; her eyes of hazel hue : 
 But O how changed ! how glorious ! how bright ! 
 No mortal now she seemed : a child of light 
 
1 1 72 URAL MUSE, 1% 
 
 In heavenly beauty burst upon my sight! 
 With wonder I beheld her dazzling charms \ 
 Yet though I longed to clasp her in my arms, 
 A form so far surpassing mortal mold, 
 r could not, diwd not to my bosom fold. 
 But while I gazed, she faded from my view ; 
 The lovely scene around me vanished too; 
 Clroves, gardens, streams and fields of living green, 
 And those bright glorious ones no more were seen ! 
 The spell that had my senses bound was broke ; 
 And from my dream— ibr such it was— I woke 
 To find myself again among the dead, 
 Still resting on the cold damp stone my head. 
 
 'Twas night ; but in the azure vault serene, 
 A thousand bright and twinkling stars were seen i 
 While the full moon shed soft her silvery light 
 On the dark yew trees and the tombstones white. 
 
 So vividly appeared what I had dreamed, 
 That almost like reality it seemed ; 
 And when my steps I homeward slowly turned, 
 Methought my Mary's form I still discerned. 
 
 And oft times since, in visions of the night. 
 That angel form has come to bless my sight: 
 And in my day-dreams too it doth appear; 
 In the soft whispering breeze her voice I hear, 
 And think her gentle spirit hovers near ; 
 Nay more : I feel a sweet assurance given 
 That with my Mary I shall live in Heaven. 
 
 A DEATHBED SCENE. 
 RoapecLfully niscribecl to Miss Sarah New ot Todd County, Kv 
 There lay upon his dying bed, 
 
 One who a life of care had passed : 
 Hope in his heart had long been dead; 
 But Death, his friend, had come at last. 
 
 Now on the verge of time he stood ; 
 
 Yet cast no "lingering look behind;" 
 By faith the "Promised land" he viewed, 
 
 .And glorious visions filled his mind. 
 
12 
 
 RURAL MUSE. 
 
 Like one whose work on earth was done j 
 Weary and worn with toil and gilef ; 
 
 There calmly lay that dying one, 
 Soon from his woes to find relief. 
 
 Upon his features, pale and mild, 
 
 A placid sweetness seemed to rest; 
 Like that seen in an infant child, 
 
 Reposing on its mother's breast. 
 
 At length he turned his dying eyes 
 On those who watched beside his bed; 
 
 And with the strength which Death suppli^ 
 While life is ebbing out, he said, 
 
 "I feel that I am growing cold ; 
 
 Not long my prison walls can stand; 
 But, till I'm gone I fain would hold 
 
 In mine, some friendly fair one's hand." 
 
 He ceased to speak, when from her seat, 
 
 A fair girl rose with pitying look, 
 And like a ministering spirit sweet, 
 
 Her station by his bed she took. 
 
 There long and patiently did stand 
 
 That gentle, youthful, lovely one; 
 And held in hers his thin white hanci 
 
 Until his life's last sands were run 
 
 O thus, sweet lady, would I die. 
 
 Clasping an earthly angel's hand ; 
 Then to a happy home, on high, 
 
 Be borne by a celestial band! 
 
 What greater blessing could there be 
 
 Unto a dying mortal given? 
 An angel last on earth to see, 
 
 Then be by aiigeib borne to heaven. 
 
 Note — The preceeding lines were snggested by the following 
 oircumslance. The author, a short time previous to their com- 
 position, being in company with a 3'oung lady of hi;^ acquaint- 
 
18 
 
 13 RURAL MUSE, 
 
 THE LOVING SISTER. 
 
 Goiiiposed for my sister Virginia's album shortly after the 
 decease of my beloved father which occurred on the 5th of Feb- 
 ruary, 1861, at the residence of my sister, Mary Martin, in 
 Goodlettsville, Davidson County, Tenn. 
 
 Fond memories of other days came thronging in my brain ; 
 And thoughts of friends that here on earth I ne'er can see again : 
 Emotions, sad and tender, in my s-'velling heart were pent. 
 And thus, in words^. I strove at length to give my feelings vent. 
 
 "I am weary! I am weary! and I long to be at rest 
 In that spirit land above where no sorrow can molest! 
 O the world is but a dreary and a desert waste to me ; 
 And lonely, sad and desolate, my pilgrimage must be ! 
 
 On my rough and cheerless pathway dark clouds their shad- 
 ows cast; 
 And, weary of the present, I live only in the past: 
 But the bright days of my early life can never come again. 
 Nor the links be reunited in affection's broken chain. 
 
 How many that I fondly loved from earth have passed away ; 
 But though I fain would follow, yet I still am doomed to stay. 
 Ah why do not the shafts of Death a willing victim find ? 
 Why can others go to rest while I linger here behind ? 
 
 But my country ! O that gives to me the keenest pang of all ! 
 £ have seen her in her grandeur; shall 1 live to see her fall? 
 iShall 1 see her sous encounter in lierce and hostile bands ; 
 And madly shed each other's blood with fratricidal hands ? 
 
 By thousands who once looked upon its stars and stripes with 
 
 pride, 
 The banner of the Union now is hated and defied ! 
 And those patriotic airs which our fathers' hearts could thrill, 
 Their sons, in these degenerate days with indignation fill ! 
 
 ance, sh<- told him, in the course of conversation, that she had 
 lately had a dream about him. *'I thought," said she, "that 
 I saw you dying. You appeared to be very happy, and about 
 an hour before you expired, said that you would like as you 
 breathed your last, to hold the hand of some female friend. 
 I went instantly to you," continued she, ''and yon toc^k mv 
 hand which you held until all was over." 
 
14 RURAL MV&E. 
 
 Dismembered is tliat Union now which made ns truly greaf ,, 
 And the apirit of fraternal lov^e is turned to deadly iutte f 
 
 that I could but quietly into the grave descend ; 
 
 For of all perfection, truly, I have lived to see the end !' 
 
 1 ceased, for here a hand I felt, laid softly on my head ; 
 And a loving sister's gentle voice in soothing accents said, 
 *'Dear brother, though thy sky is dark, the clouds are edged 
 
 with light ; 
 And though to-day is gloomy, yet the morrow may be bright 
 
 To the meanest of His creatures God is merciful and kind ; 
 He tempers to the tender lamb the chilling winter wind : 
 And shall He, thou poor stricken one ! less mindful prove ot 
 
 thee? 
 Of man. His nobler workmanship, can God forgetful be? 
 » 
 
 Of some whom once thou lovedsi, it is true thou art bereft; 
 Still thou art not all alone ; thou hast many friends yet left , 
 And though the joys of former days can ne'er return again, 
 The links shall all be joined, once more, in Friendship's i-jro 
 ken chain. 
 
 The flames of civil discord too will shortly cease to burn ; 
 And the reign of Madness over, Reason to her throne return. 
 On the storm-cloud there is painted Heaven's bright and lov^^' 
 
 ly bow, 
 A sign of peace and mercy from on high to man below ! 
 
 If we but firmly trust in Him whom none can trust in vam, 
 His anger He will turn away, and smJle on us again ; 
 From anarchy and ruin our country He will save, 
 And our banner o'er a happy land again shall proudly wave 
 
 Be hopeful then, dear brother; soon the clouds will pass away 
 Night's darkest hour often proves the harbinger of day : 
 *Let Patience do her perfect work,' and Heaven may, at last, 
 Make thy future days more sunny than the brightest of thp 
 past. 
 
 The blessings yet remaining, with a thankful heart enjoy, 
 E'en though a sorrow, now and then, those blessings should 
 
 alloy ; 
 And when thy days on earth shall end thou 'It be forever 
 
 blessed 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at 
 
 rest." 
 
15 RUBALMUSE, 15 
 
 THE HOPES AND ANTICIPATIONS OF YOUTH 
 OFTEN ILLUSORY. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR MISS MARY T, SMITH'S ALBUM, 
 GORDONS VI LLE, LOGAN CO., KY. 
 
 Miss Mary :— You request of me a contribution to youi 
 Album. As I feel in a pensive mood, permit me to write 
 for you a somewhat serious piece. You are; now in life';- 
 early bloom, and perhaps, like many others of the youthful 
 fair,' looking forward to a sunny future, to many hours ol 
 blissful enjoyment in the society of friends beloved, and <i 
 happy realization of the gay fancies, the brigliL visions and 
 day-dreams so natural to youth. O could the prayer ot 
 friendship avail, your destiny would indeed be blissful; 
 the yearnings of your pure young heart should all be sat- 
 isfied, and your sky undimmed by even a passing cloud. 
 
 But earth is not our abiding place, and we must look foi 
 trials and disappointments, ]>lasted hopes, separation trojo 
 those around whom are twined the tenderest ties of the 
 heart's young affections ; sad reverses of fortune, and friend « 
 estranged in the trying hour of adversity. These are tlie 
 means by which we are weaned from a world in which we 
 can sojourn only as strangers and pilgrims for a short time. 
 Thus the heart is purified, and the thoughts and affection?, 
 raised from things below to things above ; from earth to 
 heaven; and thus are we prepared tor the enjoyment ot 
 that bright and glorious state of existence wheie sorrow is 
 imknown, and where we shall again be united, with the 
 beloved friends who have entered before us into that rest 
 which remains for the people of God. 
 
 How fair, in our youth, all the future appears 
 When Fancy and Hope gild the bright coming yearo » 
 'Tis distance enchantment then lends to the view, 
 Yet we think that the lovely illusion is true. 
 
 But time onward moves ; the illusion is o'er ; 
 What once seemed so lovely, is lovely no more ] 
 The !^ky, once serene, is with clouds overcast, 
 And we sadly look back to the days of the past. 
 
 As further we go in this wilcl^erness drear, 
 More dim doth the light on our pathway appear : 
 The flowers that once bloomed so fragrant and gay, 
 Lose their beauty and sweetness, and die in a day. 
 
16 RURAL MWE. 
 
 From frieiuis that now closeiy entwine round the heart, 
 Fate decrees that we sooner or later shall })art ! 
 Wherever we turn, or whate'er we survey, 
 vVe see all that's beautiful passing away ! 
 
 Since earth and its pleasures so fleeting we find, 
 To a happier world our hearts let us bind, 
 Where all is substantial, delightful and pure, 
 And where pleasures are found that forever endure. 
 
 O 't is sweet when the spirit with grief is weighed down, 
 And Fate on our fortune seems darkly to frown, 
 To look far beyond this cold world's dieary shore 
 To that bright land where sorrow and pain are no more. 
 
 THE TRUE RICHES. 
 
 "Give me wealth, give me power and honor and fame," 
 iSays the man of the world : these his passions inflame ; 
 His actions, his words, and his thoughts they control, 
 ^Vnd to win them he e'en would imperil his soul. 
 
 '' Whiit to n.e," says the christian, "are riches and fame? 
 One is oft a temptation, the other — a name : 
 Uncertain and transient are all things below, 
 And the world is itself but a vain fleeting show. 
 
 Then give me the faith that can mountains remove ; 
 The hope which in trouble an anchor shall prove ; 
 That love which more excellent still, shall endure 
 When hope shall expire, and faith be no more. 
 
 Yes, let these celestial jewels be mine, 
 And though Fate do her worst, I shall never repine : 
 WilJi those I'd be rich, though but scanty my store, 
 And without them, though wealthy, I still should he 
 poor." 
 
17 nURALMUSE. 17 
 
 ^ THE WANDERER. 
 
 Sadly from place to place I roam, 
 
 A wanderer without a home: 
 
 Now here, now there, by chance I'm tlnowri, 
 
 Yet find no spot to call my own. 
 
 The dwellings of the rich I view, 
 And think / once was wealthy too ; 
 Could once the spacious lields survey 
 That round my father's mansion lay. 
 
 And often with a heavy sigh, 
 I think of happy days gone by ; 
 And wish, but wish, alas! in vain, 
 That I could live them o'er again. 
 
 How long, O Lord ! how long shall 1 
 O'er blighted hopes be doomed to sigh ; 
 By Poverty's strong hand pressed down, 
 And chilled by Fate's dark, withering frown ? 
 
 Father, forgive Thy erring one; 
 Teach me to say, "Thy will be done:" 
 Though bitter be the cup I drain, 
 Let me not impiously complain. 
 
 jJuL ever thankful may I be 
 For favors still vouchsafed to me; 
 Willing both good and ill to meel, 
 And take the bitter with the sweo<. 
 
 And daily may I think of one, 
 
 Of Jesus, thy beloved son. 
 
 Who here a life of sorrow led. 
 
 And had not "where to rest His head.'' 
 
 Ungrateful I have been to Thee; 
 
 But Lord, be merciful to me! 
 
 O let my punishment be mild, 
 
 Then take to Thee Tliy poor, poor child i 
 
BUBAL MUSE. 
 
 Yes, when my wanderingTs are oVr, 
 And I shall suffer here no more; 
 Father of mercies ! God of love ! 
 Receive me to a home above. 
 
 VEE8ES 
 
 FOE Mlbfcj MARTHA E. H '^ '^ ^ 'S ALBUlVt 
 
 Dear Martha, let not worldly things 
 Too much engage thy youthful mind 
 
 The joys that Fame or Fortune brings, 
 Will often leave a sting behind. 
 
 Didst thou the world itself possess; 
 
 Its honors and its wealth control; , 
 Boon thou wouldst see their nothingness , 
 
 They could not satisfy the sovL 
 
 From these like pious Mary turn. 
 
 And take a low, yet honored seat ; 
 And lessons of true wisdom learn 
 
 Lay not up treasures here I)elow, 
 Where canker, moth and rust consume 
 
 Earth no such riches can bestow 
 As those which lie beyond the tomb. 
 
 May this inheritance be thine, 
 
 From thieves and moths and rust secure ; 
 Which, bright and glorious, shall shine 
 
 WIkmi Time itself sliall be no more. 
 
19 ie URAL M USE. i9 
 
 TO MISS ALICE ROBERTS 
 
 OF ELKTON, TODD COUNTY, KENTUCKY, 
 
 Oould friendship's prayer avail for thee, 
 No care, no sorrow shouldst thoii know: 
 
 Tliy sky should ever cloudless be ; 
 Thy life's pure stream unruffled fiov^' 
 
 But He who made us knows us best, 
 And wisely tempers good with ill: 
 
 Both serve alike our faith to test. 
 And both His purposes fulfill. 
 
 How welcome is the opening day 
 
 After a long and gloomy night! 
 And when the storm hath passed away, 
 
 How cheerful Nature seems ! how bright \ 
 
 When Winter's dreary reign is o'er, 
 With joy we hail the vernal bloom ; 
 
 While Nature smiles, renewed once more, 
 As if awaking from the tomb. 
 
 To one with heat and thirst oppressed, 
 How grateful is the cooling spring! 
 
 And O what happiness doth rest 
 Unto the weary pilgrim bring! 
 
 When disappointment chills the heart, 
 And dangers thick beset our way; 
 
 God will sufficient grace impart, 
 And strength proportioned to our day. 
 
 Oft when Love's tenderest ties are riven, 
 'Tis Mercy that inflicts the blow ; 
 
 And thus God draws the heart to heaven. 
 That else had clung to things below. 
 
 And oft when on life's troubled deep. 
 
 Our bark is driven to and fro, 
 He makes the winds and billows sleep. 
 
 And on the storm-cloud hangs the bow. 
 
20 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 Wlien liglitning's blaze and thunders roar. 
 He (loth these mhiisters employ; 
 
 And valuers noxious and impure, 
 The warring elements destroy. 
 
 So trials are by heaven designed 
 
 On hearts from sin to purify 
 And thus like gold by fire refined, 
 
 The soul is fitted for the sky^ 
 
 Then mayest thou ever, dear young friend, 
 Be ready each event to meet; 
 
 Whatever Providence may send. 
 Alike the bitter and the sweet. 
 
 And when life's voyage shall be o'er, 
 Then all thy sorrows too shall cease; 
 
 And safe on Canaan's blissful shore, 
 Thou'lt rest in everlasting peace. 
 
 -♦*- 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE FTRRT ANNIVERSARY OF MY FATHER'3 
 DECEASE. 
 
 My early guide, my counselor and friend, 
 
 With whose dear name a thousand memories l)lend 
 
 That, hallowed in my heart, shall e'er remain 
 
 While life and sense, and feeling I retain ; 
 
 Alas ! is earth no more thy dwelling place? 
 
 Shall I that venerable form and face 
 
 No more behold ? that voice no longer hear, 
 
 Which ever kindly fell upon my ear ? 
 
 Those pensive, mild blue eyes no longer see, 
 
 Which but so lately beamed with love on me? 
 
 How hard it is to realize that one 
 I knew and loved so lon^-, from earth is gone? 
 A few short days it seems since last we met : 
 I almost think I see and hear thee yet ; 
 Still the warm pressure of thy hand I feel, 
 
21 RURAL MUSE. , ^ 
 
 Which seemed tliy fiearVs affection to reveal, 
 More strong than words. Alas ! I knew not then, 
 That hand would ne'er be clasped in mine again ! 
 Or that the farewell, sounding- in my ear, 
 Would be our long", our final farewell here ! 
 I little thought the look on thee I cast. 
 When last we parted was indeed the last, 
 And that the messenger was then at hand 
 To take another of our household band. 
 No language has the power to express 
 The anguish of my heart, the deep distress 
 That filled my inmost soul and bowed my head 
 When 'twas announced to me that thou wast — dead ! 
 So sudden and so stunning was the stroke, 
 I almost felt as if my heart was broke : 
 And though I knew 'twas best that thou wast gone, 
 I could not say "The will of Heaven be done." 
 For O my father ! when deprived of thee 
 The world I felt would be a blank to me. 
 To thee I'd looked in childhood's helplessness, 
 When petty cares and little ills distress. 
 To guide, support, to comfort and to bless, 
 With my beloved mother (now no more 
 On earth, but from its ills and woes secure) 
 Who strove, betimes, to teach my mind to rise 
 Above the world, and fasten on the skies. 
 
 But though the world to me is sad and drear 
 Without thee, yet I would not have thee here. 
 Removed from all the woes of human life, 
 Thou dost not see the fratricidal strife 
 Which makes the country mourn that gave thee birth, 
 The greatest once, the happiest on earth. 
 Ere factions, violent and fierce arose. 
 And friends and kindred changed to deadly foes. 
 Thou seest not the heaps of mangled dead 
 Where brothers' blood by brothers' hands is shed : 
 » Nor dost thou see the widow's burning tear, 
 As sad she sits beside her husband's bier, 
 While close and closer to her heaving breast 
 Her orphan babe in silent grief is pressed. 
 
%2 'R URAL jyi USE, 
 
 Thou canst not see tlie look of anguiali deep 
 She casts on him who sleeps his tinal sleep ; 
 Him who so lately was her pride and joy ; 
 Her husband dear; the father of her boy : 
 How sad tlie change ! her voice no more he hears. 
 Nor feels upon his pale cold cheek her tears. 
 Grief such as hers : despair so mute and deep, 
 Would touch a heart of stone; hiake angels weep 
 
 And O what sorrow would it give to thee 
 If thou couldst be again on earth, and see, 
 Thy son constrained from place to place to roam 
 A home to find— a temporary home- 
 Now here, now there, wherever Fate severe 
 His lot may cast for each successive year. 
 But thou dost see it not : thy course is run ; 
 With earth and all its changes thou art done, 
 And safe and happy in thy home above, 
 where all is peace and everlasting love 
 
 O when the hour shall C(jme (as soon it mustj 
 For this frail body to return to dust, 
 May we, my sainted father, meet again, 
 But ftir beyond the reach of grief or pain; 
 And with my mother, brothers, sisters dear; 
 And all we ever knew and loved while here; 
 Enjoy eternal happiness and rest, 
 ''Forever blesssing and forever blessed.^' 
 
 VERSES 
 
 orrASrONED BY THE SUDDEN DECEASE OF A DISTIN 
 
 C4UISHED VOCALIST IN THE CHOIR OP 
 
 CHURCH, IN THE TOWN OF—— . 
 
 Sweet Isidore! but yesterday she stood, 
 
 Matchless among the vocal sisterhood : 
 
 But yesterday the tuneful choir she led ; 
 
 Alas ! now voiceless— senseless— pulseless— dead '' 
 
nUBALMUSE, 2S 
 
 How soon her gentle spirit passed away! 
 Too bright, too beautiful on earth to stay. 
 Ere Sin had fixed upon her soul a stain, 
 Back to its native skies it soared again.' 
 Heaven for a tinie to earth that blessing sent, 
 Then claimed again that onl^^ had been lent. 
 
 How calm, how beautiful in death she lies 
 With hands crossed meekly on her breast ; and eye@ 
 Closed, as in sweet repose ! Can that be death ? ' 
 In that calm sleeper can there be no breath ? 
 Yes, death is there ! that sleep no waking knows ] 
 Deep and unbroken is the grave's repose f 
 That senseless clay her friends are weeping o'er 
 Is all now left of lovely Isidore ! 
 
 THE CHILD OF POVERTY. 
 
 sad is the fate of the poor 
 
 The poor that with wealth once were blessed! 
 The hardships, the pangs they endure 
 Can never by tongue be expressed. 
 
 Like sensitive plants oft they shrink 
 
 From a rude thoughtless touch that gives pain; 
 And often they bitterly think 
 
 Of the days that shall ne'er come again. 
 
 J once was with affluence blessed, 
 And from sorrow and ill felt secure ; 
 
 Once a home like an Eden possessed, 
 And wished not, and cared not for more. 
 
 How changed is my fortune ! alas! 
 My halcyon days are no more I 
 
 1 am called through deep waters to pass ; 
 The winds and the waves round me roar! 
 
24 RUBALMIJSE. 
 
 In sadness I rove to and fro ; 
 
 Not a spot can I claim as a home % 
 I know not, at times, where to go, 
 
 But as Cliance blindly leads me I roam. 
 
 I am cheerle ^s and lonely indeed ; 
 
 I seek for employment in vaiii ; 
 Though ease and repose I much ne^d, 
 
 Alas ! I can neither obtain ! 
 
 How long shall the storm o'er me sweep? 
 
 Its fury how long must I brave? 
 O when shall I sleep my last sleep, 
 
 And quietly rest in the grave? 
 
 "And now abideth faith, ho{7e, charity, tliesc threes but tlio 
 greatest of these is charity." ( I r< r. xii'i, i;). ) 
 
 FAITH, HOPE AND LOVE. ' 
 
 Three sister spirits in the world we see, 
 
 Who dwell with mortals though they 're from above i 
 Faith, Hope and Love are these celestial three; 
 
 The greatest of the sisterhood is Love. 
 
 For though immortal seem these si )irit8 bright,. 
 
 Yet Faith and Hope will pass away above, 
 This in friiition lost, and that in sight ; 
 
 But Love can never die, for — "God is Love."" 
 
 ON MY SIXTY-FOURTH BIRTHDAY. 
 
 AND PHARAOH SAID UFTO JACOB, **HOW OLD VKT THOU," 
 
 To-day adds to my years one more ; 
 They number now full sixty-four : 
 Evil and few alas ' have been 
 The davs that I on earth have seen I 
 
RURAL MUSE. 25 
 
 But soon my journey will be o'er; 
 The lengthening shadows fall before ; 
 And soon upon my lonely way 
 Will fade the light of closing day. 
 
 The hoary head, the bending form ; 
 The blood with youth no longer warm - 
 The faltering step, the failing eye. 
 All tell me that "the end is nigh." * 
 
 And oft a voice I seem to hear, 
 Which softly whispers in my ear, 
 *'Thy work on earth will soon be done, 
 And thou shalt rest, poor weary one." 
 
 How cheering is the thought of rest! 
 How welcome to the soul oppressed 
 The hope of endless, sweet repose 
 From all its sorrows, all its woes I 
 
 O may I, when from earth, at last. 
 My weary spirit shall have passed, 
 In that bright world above obtain 
 The rest I here have sought in vain ! 
 
 ON THE SAME SUT5JECT. 
 
 To-day just threescore years and four 
 I in this "Vale of Tears" have seen i 
 
 O would that I wuld see no more, 
 For sad, thus far, my way hath been ! 
 
 But if it be the will of God 
 That I should live and suffer still, 
 
 O may I kiss His chastening rod, 
 And bow submissive to His will. 
 
 For long I know it can not be 
 Ere my probation will be o'er; 
 
 And then from pain and soitow free, 
 I hope to rest fore ver more. 
 
2® RURAL MUSJB:, 
 
 A hope so comforting as this. 
 Should drive despondency away ^ 
 
 One moment of celestial bliss 
 For all my woes would richly pay. 
 
 ON MY SIXTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY,^ 
 
 One year more of my life is gone by with to-day. 
 
 And I 've one less to live in this dark world belo^'?- 
 The moments are rapidly passing away, 
 
 And shortly "the way of all flesh" 1 must go. 
 Be thou with me then, God of mercy and of love ; 
 
 And when I the Valley of Death shall have trod^ 
 O may I enjoy in Thy kingdom above^ 
 
 The rest that remains for the people of God. 
 
 THE C1HRISTIAN PILGRIM, 
 
 Chnstian pilgrim, the road thou dost travel is bard t 
 Thou art weary and wayworn, and battered and scarred^ 
 
 But bright is thine eye, and thy heart is yet brave ; 
 God speed thee I my brother ; be still of good cheer ; 
 The end of thy journey is fast drawing near ; 
 
 There 's rest for the weary ; there 's pea^e in the grave^ 
 
 The borders of Canaan are almost in sight. 
 
 With fields ever verdant, and skies ever bright ; 
 
 No clouds lower there, and no storms fiercely rave : 
 Press on, christian brother 5 though rugged thy road. 
 It will lead thee at last to a blissful abode 
 
 Beyond the dark precincts of Death and the Grave. 
 
 The pilgrim speeds on to the bright ''Promised Land,'^ 
 With hope in his heart, and his sword in his hand, 
 
 Every foe to resist, every danger to brave % 
 Of Zion he sings as he journeys along, 
 And thus he exultingly closes his song, 
 
 ''Death, where is thy sting? where thy victory. Grave ?'^ 
 
 * April ord, 1865, 
 
H VMAL MUSE, 2 
 
 Hark! a shout Irom the heaven-bound piigrini i hear 
 Now a song of thanksgiving breaks full on my ear, 
 
 *'Alleluiah to Him who is able to save!" 
 His labors are ended ; his warfare is done; 
 His last battle fought, and the victory won : 
 
 The pilgrim has triinnphe<l o'er Death saiiX the Grave, 
 
 THE RULING PASSION STRONG IN DEATH. 
 
 Parson Peters, one day, on his way home from church, 
 Met a veteran toper whose name was Ben Birch : 
 ^'Good morning ! good morning f' quoth Ben with a smile \ 
 * 'Since I last saw your Reverence, it seems a great while." 
 "'Not a fortnight yet, Ben. Why your memory is 
 As short, I perceive, as your rubicund phiz. 
 By your staggering gait too, and broad simple grin^ 
 I see you *ve been spinning it out at the inn." 
 **That is true," replied Ben, "nothing truer can be; 
 And now I am reeling it home, as you see." 
 
 The parson again soon on Ben chanced to light, 
 Whom he found, as before, in his usual plight ; 
 So tipsy, indeed, that, unable to stand. 
 On the ground he was seated, with bottle in hand. 
 The parson endeavored to slip softly by. 
 But in some way attracted the drunken man's eye: 
 **Good morning !" cried Ben, though *t was late in the day : 
 "Just a moment hold on ; I am going your way." 
 Then he tried to stand up, but the effort was vain, 
 And down on the ground he soon tumbled again. 
 Parson Peters looked on, shaking gravely his head ; 
 At length to the poor helplass toper he said, 
 "How can you act thus, when so well you must know 
 That drinking has, time and again, served you so, 
 And that whisky has long been your powerful foe." 
 "O parson," cried Ben, "we must love our foes :" 
 So he turned up his bottle, and hiccupped, "Here goes !" 
 
28 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 Six monthn passed away, and again Ben was found 
 
 With liquor o'ercome, fast asleep on the ground. 
 
 Borne friends got a carriage in which he was laid, 
 
 And to his own miserable hovel conveyed. 
 
 Then the party consulted^ and tixed on a plan 
 
 Which tliey hoped might reclaim the eBf«>rtiinate man. 
 
 From the stable a trough to the cottage tlisey bore^ 
 
 With a top which they made from the plank o^f a door. 
 
 T 'was an old poplar trough with a hole here aiid there, 
 
 Sufficient to let in plenty of air. 
 
 Then Ben in this coffin was carefully laidV 
 
 And as carefully down to the cellar conveyed ; 
 
 While his wife who still loved him, resolved that she too^ 
 
 To reclaim the poor wretch would do all sh e coald do : 
 
 So over feer dress Mrs. Birch threw a sheet ; 
 
 Then, in order to make her disguise more complete, 
 
 A hideous mask she put over her face, 
 
 That none of her features her husband might trace. 
 
 Then matches she took, and a dim-burning light, 
 
 And went down to watch by her husband all night. 
 
 Thus hours passed slowly mid, sadly away, 
 While Ben, like a log, quite insensible lay : 
 At length a slight noise, like a half stifled moan, 
 Is heard from the trough ; then a deep hollow groan— 
 Another— and then all is silent once more, 
 And the hours drag heavily on as before. 
 
 Again the good woman a sound seems to hear. 
 And close to the trough quickly places her ear : 
 She is right, for again the poor toper has stirred, 
 And his voice, as in terror and anguish is heard :— 
 "Where am I ? 'T is just what I often have feared ! 
 Yes, at last I am dead as a hammer, and crammed 
 In my coffin, it seems ! dead and buried and d— d I 
 The groans that I hear, and this sulphurous smell. 
 Too plainly assure me I 've got into h — 1 1'* 
 In terror he threw up his arms as he spoke, 
 By which the top of his frail coffin he broke ; 
 And down on the ground with a clatter it fell. 
 While the terrified wretch started up with a yell 
 
 "How is this ?■' he exclaimed, his hair stiffening with 
 fear, 
 
BUBAL MUSE, 29 
 
 While lii.s eyes wildly glared : "Am I all alone here? 
 
 No ! one I i)eiTeive by this pale quivering light ; 
 
 'T is the ghost of a female attired in white, 
 
 And hideous onongh to destroy one witli fright ; 
 
 You're the wife, I presume, of king BetJlzebub, ma'am? 
 
 Excuse me, I pray ; I intended no harm : 
 
 I hope that your ladyship is not ofiended ; 
 
 Again I repeat, no offense was intended. 
 
 My mind is disordered : I know very w ell, 
 
 From those dolorous sounds, that I've landed in h — 1. 
 
 But I thought h— 1 was hot ; so, at least, I was told ; 
 
 Yet I do not feel hot ; I am cold, very cold. 
 
 And mistress, I hope you'll not think that I'm bold ; 
 
 But too chilly I leel to attend much to form : 
 
 Have you any thing here a |M)or fellow to warm ? 
 
 Any cogniac, or brandy, qv v\ hiskj, or ale, 
 
 Or even hard cider, or small-beer for sale? 
 
 You've nothing you say? Then indeed this is H — L ! 
 
 And to hope and to lienven I now bid farewell ! " 
 
 He shivered and staggered as though he'd been shot, 
 
 Then down to th^' ground .sunk the miserable sot. 
 
 When again k* his senses the poor fellow came, 
 He saw, bendiiig o'er him, his own laithfui dame : 
 He was in his -own room, and upon his own bed I 
 '^^Is it true, "— he exclaimed — "is it true I'm not dead ? 
 Then 't was only a dream ;" and his dream he then told ; 
 But stJU he continued to feel very cold^ 
 An<l <^aniestly said, as he shivering lay, 
 ■"Givi^ me one little drink of good whisky, I pray, 
 And I promise I'll not take another — to day." 
 
 Ben got sober, and kept so, a twelvemonth, or more, . 
 And his neighbors all hoped 'twas a permanent cure ; 
 But their hopes and their wishes alas were in vain ; 
 He returned, like the dog, to his vomit again ! 
 
 At length the poor sot on a sick bed was laid. 
 And his case was pronomica:! beyond medical aid. 
 True to his vo<»ation, the pas-tor, each day, 
 The sick man attended, to counsel and pray : 
 But a f(.'ver appeared to disorder Ben's head, 
 For he knew not, or seemed not to know what was said ; 
 
-80 MUBALMU8E. 
 
 But groaning, and moaniugy and muttering lay^ 
 Whenever the parson attempted to pray, 
 As if trying to drown what the good man might say. 
 But a moment or two before Ben breathed his last, 
 A sad, earnest look on the parson he east. 
 "Is there any thing wanting?" the good man exclaimed ; 
 ''Whatever it be, only let it be named." 
 "Then give tne, I pray you," said Ben in reply, 
 "One more drink of good liquor, and then let me die/'' 
 
 THE GRAVE, 
 
 ?0 THE RIGHTR0TJ9 A CALM AND PEACEFUL TLaCE OF RESl 
 
 Child of God, though each day, 
 Dangers lie in thy way. 
 
 Trust in Him that can save: 
 The ills that we know 
 In this dark world below 
 
 Will all cease in the grave. 
 
 Though thy bark now may be 
 On lifers boisterous sea 
 
 Tossed by winds and by wave ; 
 3oon the storm will have past. 
 Soon subsided the blast: 
 
 All is calm in the grave. 
 
 If cares should oppress thee, 
 Or hardships distress thee; 
 
 Shouldst thou toil like a slave; 
 Despair not, repine not, 
 Though hard be thy lot, 
 
 There is rest in the grave. 
 
 Should the wicked annoy thee, 
 And seek to destroy thee ; 
 
 Though in madness they rave, 
 Short will be their career; 
 They may trouble thee here, 
 
 But there 's peace in the grave. 
 
Let happen what may, 
 Btill press on in the way, 
 
 Be steadfast and brave. 
 Though clouds may be o'er thee, 
 And darkness before thee. 
 
 There is light in the grave. 
 
 THE CONTRAST. 
 
 1 onee went a rich man to see ; 
 
 His head was with age silvered o'er ; 
 A lover of Mammon was he, 
 
 Though his years numbered nearly fourscore. 
 
 He talked of the cattle and grain 
 That he raised on his farm every year ; 
 
 But I waited and listened in vain. 
 One word of the Savior to hear. 
 
 Yet this man claimed a christian to be, 
 And at church his devotions did pay : 
 
 There none could sing louder than he ; 
 None louder or longer could pray. 
 
 But at home it was diflferent quite : 
 
 No family altar was there ; 
 No sacrifice morning nor night ; 
 
 No voice of thanksgiving or prayer ! 
 
 How sad that one in the church grown old, 
 So prayerless, so thoughtless should be ! 
 
 Yet many called saints we behold 
 As careless and prayerless as he I 
 
 Soon after, I called at a cot \ 
 'T was reared on a beautiful green ; 
 
 And I thought as I gazed on that spot, 
 That I ne^er had a lovelier seen. 
 
32 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 Those who lived there were poor, very poor, 
 But they never repined at their lot : 
 
 Their wishes were small as their store ; 
 And riches they coveted not. 
 
 I found in that cot a young saint ; 
 
 On a bed of affliction she lay ; 
 Her body was wasted and faint. 
 
 But her spirit waxed stronger each day. 
 
 By the bed of the sutferer knelt 
 Her gray-headed grandsire in prayer ; 
 
 The Presence Divine we all felt, 
 And felt that 'twas good to be there. 
 
 How oft in the house of the poor 
 A Bethel indeed we behold ; 
 
 And treasures— a heavenly store- 
 More precious than silver or gold. 
 
 While many with affluence blessed, 
 Are anxiously striving for more ; 
 
 And though of abundance possessed, 
 Yet wretched, and needy and poor I 
 
 Thus will it be ever the case 
 If God in our hearts we dethrone. 
 
 And Mammon exalt to the place 
 Of Him who should reign there alone. 
 
 A MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Again in undisturbed repose 
 I've passed another night ; 
 
 Again my waking eyes behold 
 The cheerful morning light. 
 
BUBAL MUSE. 
 
 As thus with his enlivening beams, 
 The sun mine eyes doth bless ; 
 
 Pour Thou Thy light upon my soul, 
 Bright Sun of Righteousness. 
 
 Cahiily I laid me down to rest ; 
 
 No evil did I fear ; 
 For well 1 knew that thou, O Lord, 
 
 Wouldst through the night be near. 
 
 Twas Thou that in the midnight gioom 
 
 Didst keep me safe from ill ; 
 And be Thou Lord, throughout this day, 
 
 My sure Protector still. 
 
 From Thee, O Shepherd of my soul I 
 
 Let me not go astray : 
 From sin and from temptation's snares, 
 
 O turn my feet away. 
 
 May I, in all that I this day, 
 
 SJiall think, or say or do, 
 Tl>e honor of Thy holy name 
 
 Thy glory have in view. 
 
 And when the night of death shall come 
 
 Be Thou, O Lord, with me : 
 Give me in peace mine eyes to close, 
 
 And fell asleep in Thee. 
 
 A HYMN OF THANKSGIVING. 
 
 Thrice blessed be Thy name, O Lord ! 
 
 For all Thy love to me : 
 Life, and whatever in life is good, 
 
 I owe, my God to Thee. 
 
M R OKA L M USiiJ. 
 
 Thou givei^t me ray daily food, 
 The raiment that I wear ; 
 
 And for my oft returning- want^ 
 Thy goodness doth prepare. 
 
 To teach me how to live and die 
 Thy word to me is given ; 
 
 A light to shine upon the way 
 That leads from earth to heaven . 
 
 And Thou Thine only Son didst give 
 
 A Sacritice for me ! 
 My Savior died that 1 might live ! 
 
 What greater love can be ? 
 
 O how shall words my thanks express 
 For all thy love and care ? 
 
 Then view my grateful heart, O Lord, 
 And read Thy praises there. 
 
 A HYMIS. 
 
 "Creatt^ in me a clean heart,. O God, mid renew a right spir- 
 t within me.'- Psalm LI. 10. 
 
 This heart of stone, O Lord, remove, 
 Which can not feel, which can not love; 
 And one of flesh bestow on me ;— 
 A heart replete with love to thee. 
 
 Give me a pure, a holy heart : 
 
 A new right spirit, Lord, impart : 
 
 Each thought, each word, each act control, 
 
 And cleanse from every stain my soul. 
 
 No more I then should weep or mourn ; 
 My sorrow into joy would turn ; 
 And bright would be my peaceful way, 
 And brighter to the perfec!t day. 
 
RiJUAL MUkSE, 35 
 
 AN EVENliSG HYMN. 
 
 l^airi the shades of night appear. 
 And like a dark and gloomy pal]. 
 
 Overall the wide spread landscape round, 
 In solemn silence gently fall. 
 
 And now from care and business free. 
 
 An interval of rest I find ; 
 While from the paltry things of earth 
 
 i gladly turn my weary mind. 
 
 And now, Almighty Father, God, 
 Help me to I ttok into my heart ; 
 
 And if more grace, more faith 1 need, 
 Do Thou more, grace, more faith impart 
 
 If in the day which just has passed, 
 Aught of my duty w as uiidone, 
 
 < ) Lord forgive me lor the sake 
 Of Jesus, Thy beloved Son . 
 
 The spirit truly willing is, 
 
 But O the tiesh ! how weak, how frail i 
 How prone to yield when pleasures call, 
 
 Or when temptations strong assail. 
 
 Then be, in every time of need, 
 O Lord, a present help to me, 
 
 And keep me in the narrow way 
 That leads to heaven and to Thee. 
 
 Now let Thy holy angels, Lord, 
 Around my bed their vigils keep; 
 
 And from all dangers and alarnas 
 Securely guard me while 1 sleep. 
 
 Or if I weary, sleepless lie, 
 
 Although my tongue may silent be, 
 Still rnay I hold, upon ray bed, 
 
 Communion wUh my heart nnd Thee. 
 
30 RURAL MUSE. 
 
 And may I in the morning rise 
 
 With grateful heart and strength renewed ; 
 And may my actions through the day, 
 
 Show forth my love and gratitude. 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Again has passed another day ; 
 
 Night's sable shades once more appear : 
 My days speed rapidly away, 
 
 And Death's long night is drawing near. 
 
 From worldy cares and business free, 
 
 Now to my chamber 1 repair 
 To hold communion, Lord, with Thee, 
 
 And close the day with praise and prayer. 
 
 And while, O Lord, in faith and love, 
 I breathe my prayer into Thy ear, 
 
 May I Thy gracious promise prove, 
 And know that Thou indeed art near. 
 
 Forgive, O Lord, for Jesus' sake, 
 What Thou amiss in me dost see, 
 
 That I this night my rest may take. 
 At peace with all the world and Thee. 
 
 While on my pillow rests my head, 
 And every sense is locked in sleep, 
 
 May guardian angels round my bed. 
 Through all the night their stations keep. 
 
 And when the morning light again 
 Rhall drive the shades of night, awny, 
 
 iVIuy I, refreshed and thankful tlien, 
 With prayer and praise begin the day. 
 
RURAL MUSE, 37 
 
 May all the days I here shall spend, 
 To Thee, Almighty God, be given ; 
 
 And when my time on earth shall end. 
 Then may I live with Thee in heaven. 
 
 EVENING HYMN, No. 3. 
 
 To Thee my evening sacrifice 
 Once more. Almighty God, I bring 
 
 Thou who rulest in the skies, 
 Accept my humble offering. 
 
 How welcome is this holy hour 
 Which sets the mind from business free 
 
 1 feel its tranquilizing power, 
 
 And bend in homage, Lord, to Thee. 
 
 O for the sake of Thy dear Son 
 Who bled and died that I might live, 
 
 Whatever I m_ay have said, or done, 
 Or thought amiss, do Thou forgive. 
 
 And henceforth may I live to Thee 
 ^\ho died for me, and rose again : 
 
 Cleansed by Thy blood, O may I be, 
 Thou Lamb of God for sinners slain . 
 
 Thy word O Lord, may I obey ; 
 
 Be ever guided by its light; 
 Intently search it, day by day, 
 
 And meditate thereon by night. 
 
 And may I ever mindful be 
 
 Of that tremendous judgement day 
 When I must give account to Thee 
 . Of all I think and do and say. 
 
38 U URAL MUSE, 
 
 Then, in Thy righteousness arraywl, 
 
 May I in that eventful day, 
 Before my Judge stand undiKmayed 
 
 When heaven and earth shall past^ awa>- 
 
 PREMONITIONS. 
 
 T feel that I am drawing near 
 
 That spirit world, unseen, unknown ; 
 A warning voice falls on my ear, 
 
 Which tells me I soon shall be gone. 
 
 I hear it in the autumn breeze 
 
 That comes with melancholy sound, 
 
 When slowly, softly from the trees, 
 The leaves are falling all around. 
 
 Or mournfully it seems to pass, 
 Like a sad dirge, upon the gale, 
 
 As from the sear and withered grass, 
 Is borne the insect's dying waiL 
 
 The setting sun, the close of day, 
 The fading light, the twilight gloom, 
 
 Night's solemn silence, seem to say 
 That I am hastening to the tomb. 
 
 The solemn warnings these impart, 
 May they not be like morning dew. 
 
 But deeply sink into my heart, 
 And keep life's closing hour in view. 
 
 And when the hour shall come, at last, 
 
 My weary spirit to release, 
 Weil pleased, may I review the past, 
 
 And end my earthly course in pe^«e. 
 
RURAL MUSE, 39 
 
 A PRiVYEB FOR A CLEAN HEART. 
 
 Lo, at Thy feet I humbly fall, 
 My God! my King! myAllhiAll! 
 Almighty Fathei' I hear my cry ; 
 My sorrows soothe, my wants supply. 
 
 But O may one so sinful dare 
 To call Thee "Father" in his prayer ? 
 Thee whom the heavenly hosts adore ;— 
 Jehovah ! blessed evermore ! 
 
 Yes, all unworthy though I am, 
 I plead the merits of the Lamb 
 Whose blood can wash away my sin, 
 And make me pure and white within. 
 
 In Jesus' all prevailing name 
 Each gracious promise I can claim ; 
 He with His love my soul will bless, 
 And clothe me in His righteousness. 
 
 O for His Siike Thy grace impart 
 To cleanse and purify my heart! 
 Its tiii consume ; its dross refine ; 
 And make it wholly, ever Thine. 
 
 Then I can "Abba I Father!" say; 
 With confidence I then can pray ; 
 And daily from Thy hand receive 
 The blessings Thou alone canst give. 
 
 A PRAYER 
 
 FORRf:SIGNATION, FAITH AND STEADFASTNESS. 
 
 Lnrd, how I long to be with Thee ; 
 To be from sin and sorrow free ; 
 And on my blessed Savior's breast 
 To lay my weary head to rest. 
 
40 BUBAL MU8E. 
 
 But if it be Thy holy will 
 That I on earth should sojourn still„ 
 O make me to Thy will rc!»igned, 
 And give me a contented mind. 
 
 Should Fortune on me seem to frown. 
 And cares and sorrows weigh me down. 
 Then may Thy grace sufficient prove 
 The weight, the burden to remove. 
 
 And if temptations strong assail, 
 Let not my faith nor firmness fail ; 
 But may I then, like gold when tried. 
 Come from the furnace purified. 
 
 Whatever my lot in life may be, 
 May I cleave steadfastly to Thee ; 
 And when my time on earth is past, 
 B,eceive me to Thyself at last. 
 
 THE LAND OF THE LIVING. 
 
 A youth to a white headed pastor once said 
 "You are still in the land of the living 1 see." 
 The good man replied, with a shake of the head, 
 "Not yet, my young friend ; but I hope soon to be. 
 
 THE BEPROVING VOICE. 
 
 O dreary desolate and sad 
 
 This cold bleak world hath been to me \ 
 And thankful should' I be, and glad, 
 
 From all its horroi-s to be free. 
 
 Though some may wish to linger here. 
 And even would forever stay ; 
 
 Yet from a world so dark, so drear,, 
 I long to be iar, far av/ay. 
 
RURAL MUSE, 4! 
 
 Yes, gladly from thin wilderness, 
 
 This "Vale of Tears," would I depart, 
 
 When troubles oft the mind oppress, 
 And sorrows crush the bleeding heart. 
 
 But hark ! nietiiiaks a voice I hear, 
 Which bids me from my murmurs cease, 
 
 And gently breathes into my ear 
 Sweet words of c^^mfort and of peace. 
 
 It bids me bravely struggle on 
 
 But lor a few more fleeting years, 
 And then with earth I shall have done — 
 this "Vale of Tears." 
 
 And if I here shall faithful prove, 
 
 Then when Life's burden 1 lay down, 
 
 1 shall to an endless bliss remove, 
 The cross e^xchanging for tlie crown. 
 
 THE LITTLE SIAR. 
 
 KJiSPECTFULIiY AND AFFECTIOISATELY DEDICATED TO MR. AN© 
 
 MRS. HAMPTON OF WARREN COUNTY, KY., THE PARENTS OF 
 
 LITTLE STELLA, THE SUBJECT OF THE FOLLOWING LINES. 
 
 On earth a little star appeared. 
 And many willi its beauty cheered : 
 They gazed upon it with delight: 
 So beautiful it seemed; so bright. 
 But lovely things soon gass away, 
 And transient was this bright one's stay : 
 But though to earth no longer given, 
 It shines, a brilliant gem, in heaven 
 
42 BUBAL MUSE. 
 
 This little star that shone so bright.^, 
 And gave to earth awhile its light, 
 Was a sweet child of beauty rare : 
 Few infants could with her compare. 
 Too bright she was on earth to stay^ 
 So angels can-ied her away. 
 Heaven for a time this cherub sent, 
 Then claimpd what only had been lent. 
 
 Bereaved parents, mourn no more ; 
 Your little one has gone before : 
 Gone to that pure bright world above^ 
 Where all is joy, and peace, and love : 
 Where tears are wiped from every eye 
 And none can sorrow ; none can die. 
 O then, beloved friends, prepare 
 To meet your little Stella * there. 
 
 ON THE SIXTY-SIXTH ANNIVERSARY OF MY BIRTH, 
 
 Again another long, long year has passed ; 
 As sad, as melancholy as the last. 
 Still am I doomed from place to place to roam 
 To seek employment and to find a home : 
 And though the snow of Time is on my head^ 
 With daily toil I earn my daily bread. 
 
 Hard is his fate to whom is now assigned 
 The task of scliooling the reluctant mind, 
 And guiding wayward youth in Wisdom's ways^ 
 Unmoved alike by censure or by praise, 
 His unambitious charge no charms can find 
 In books ; and oft to study disinclined. 
 No heed they to his admonitions pay, 
 But trifle still the golden hours away. 
 Or should he check them in their childish tricks. 
 And on their studies strive their minds to fix. 
 Offense they take, and give him angry looks, 
 
 * Stella is the Latin for star. 
 
nURALMUSE. 43 
 
 8era\vl on their slates, or trifle with their books. 
 And sometimes when they punishment receive, 
 For vice or idleness, the school they leave. 
 
 Such oft among our rising youth we find ; 
 Impatient of control ; obtuse in mind ; 
 And, scorning to submit or to obey, 
 To warning or advice no heed they pay. 
 
 Often with such have I been sorely tried ; 
 Annoyed with dullness, stubbornness and pride; 
 Yet hard I labored to improve them still, 
 And their young minds with useful knowledge fill. 
 Nor were their hearts neglected ; day by day, 
 I strove to guide them in the narrow way ; 
 'J'he way which leads to glory and to God ; 
 The way the prophets and apostles trod. 
 But such dull teaching some could not endure, 
 So back they went, and walked with me no more. 
 E'en so it was ; yet seemed it not to me 
 That ill for good my recompense should bo. 
 For strong my confidence was in the Lord 
 That my poor labors He would yet reward. 
 
 And though awhile I still must linger here 
 In this cold world, so sad, so dark, so drear, 
 With scarce a hope my drooping heart to cheer, 
 I know that if I only faithful prove, / 
 
 I shall, at last, when Heaven sees fit, remove 
 To that bright world on high where all is peace,. 
 And all my cares and sorrows then shall cease. 
 
 Then come what may, I never will repine 
 If happiness hereafter can be mine. 
 Welcome whatever God may please to send, 
 If all my troubles with my life shall end I 
 Welcome afflictions if my soul they save ! 
 And welcome too the poor-house and the grave ! 
 
44 R DUAL MUSE. 
 
 VERSES. 
 
 In the summer of 1865, a little pupil of the author's, Johnettrf 
 Parker, daughter of Mr. John, C. Parker of Ohiistjan count3^* 
 Ky,, was dangerously ill, and, to all appearance, near the close 
 of her life. In anticipation of sucli an event the following 
 verses were written. Contrarj'- to expectation, however, little 
 Johnny, as she was lamilinrly called, recoverd her l^e^Ith,, af- 
 ter a protracted illness, and Is still alive and well. May 5, '68* 
 
 Qui- lovely one has passed away I 
 
 But O we never shall forget her, 
 Though short among us was the stay 
 
 Of our beloved, swe(^t Johnetta. 
 
 <) how we miss out petted one ! 
 
 (For all who knew would love and pot her •) 
 Forever from our sight she 's gone — 
 
 Our beautiful, and dear Johnetta ! 
 
 Too much that darling one we loved ; 
 
 To earth she bound us like a fetter ; 
 And so in mercy God removed 
 
 To heaven our beloved Johnetta. 
 
 Then why should we with earthly love, 
 With earthly weakness, thus i*egret her ? 
 
 Why would we from her home above 
 Bring back to earth our sweet Johnetta ? 
 
 To strive to meet our child above 
 
 Would wiser be, and better ; 
 All is eternal bliss and love 
 
 In the bright home of our Johnetta. 
 
 No trouble there she finds : *no pain : 
 There no temptations can beset her : 
 
 No sin is there the soul to stain : 
 An angel now is our Johnetta ! 
 
n URAL MUSE. 45 
 
 NOT DEAD BUT REMOVED. 
 
 RESl'KOTFUl.r.Y AND AFFKCTIONATRLY DKDICATKD TO MM. OEOEOE ANN HICKMAK 
 OF ELKTON, TODD COUNTY, KY. 
 
 Another lamb has been received 
 Into the heavenly Shepherd^s fold ; 
 
 Our precious Susan we no more 
 Shall in this "Vale of tears" behold. 
 
 A blessing by kind heaven sentf 
 Awhile in this dark world she shone; 
 
 And God, in taking what He lent, 
 Has only claimed what was His own. 
 
 She is not dead :— her mortal part 
 Within the tomb awhile must lie; 
 
 Her soul, immortal as the source 
 From whence it came, can never die. 
 
 8he is not dead, but gone before; 
 
 From all the ills of life removed, 
 To dwell with angels bright and pure ; 
 
 To be with JESUS whom she loved. 
 
 She is not dead, but more alive 
 Than when to this poor world confined ; 
 
 Her soul freed from its house of clay ; 
 Unfettered her immortal mind. 
 
 While her young life was ebbing fast, 
 
 She sweetly to her father said, 
 "Love my Saviour ; He loves me, 
 
 And Death I therefore do not dread. 
 
 "O father,say to all my friends 
 
 "W hom to the last I dearly love, 
 'T is my request that they will try 
 
 To meet me in the world above." 
 
 And then her eyes herself she closed ; 
 
 Then crossed her hands upon her breast ; 
 And full of heavenly hope and peace. 
 
 She gently, sweetly sunk to rest. 
 
46 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 Her happy spirit took its flight 
 From this dark world of woe and sin ; 
 
 And Heaven's bright gates were lifted high 
 To let another angel in. 
 
 While tolled on earth the solemn bell, 
 And "dust to dust" was sadly given ; 
 
 A song of joy was raised on high ; 
 Another harp was tuned in Heaven. 
 
 And now, bereaved, afflicted friends, 
 Say, would you from th' abodes of bliss 
 
 That glorified, that happy one 
 Recall to such a world as this ? 
 
 Remember rather her request 
 That you to meet her would prepare ; 
 
 Strive to obtain a home in Heaven, 
 Assured that you will meet her there. 
 
 Let hope with sorrow mingled be 
 In every tear for her you shed ; 
 
 But do not blend her with the tomb, 
 Nor mourn the living as the dead. 
 
 O may we all in glory meet 
 
 The loved ones who have gone before ; 
 Forever with our Savior be, 
 
 And from each other part no more ! 
 
 LINES 
 
 SUGGKSTED BY THE DKATH OF LITTLE HENRY HOLLINGSWORTH. SON OF JUDGE 
 GORDON HOLLINGSWORTH OF ELKTON, TODD COUNTY, KY. 
 
 All beautiful he lay in his last rest ! 
 The little hands crossed meekly on the breast ; 
 The drooping lashes, fringing lids that lay 
 O'er eyes so lately beaming bright and gay ; 
 The^cold pale cheek ; the brow, so pure, so fair. 
 All seemed to whisper soft that Death was there ! 
 
BUBAL MUSE. 47 
 
 Yet those who gazed upon that lovely face 
 Could there a mild, a sweet expression trace, 
 As though the spirit, ere it took its flight 
 Up to the mansions of eternal light. 
 Had paused to give a kiss to one so fair, 
 And left a bright, a heavenly impress there. 
 
 Although no longer heaved the little breast. 
 That boy seemed in a peaceful sleep to rest ; 
 And though a,s white as sculptured marble now^ 
 Appeared the smooth, the heaven-illumined brow ; 
 Though from the pale thin lips there came no breath, 
 It scarcely seemed as if this could be death. 
 
 Nor was it death. The spirit cannot die ; 
 
 Awhile the body in the tomb must lie; 
 
 The spirit to its Uod again must go. 
 
 Its final, endless destiny to know : 
 
 And now sweet Henry rests secure above, 
 
 With Him whose nature and whose name is Love. 
 
 Mother, who dost like mourning Ilachel weep, 
 Thy Henry is not dead ; he doth but sleep. 
 No earthly sorrow now can mar his peace ; 
 The ills we suffer here, in Heaven cease. 
 Children, the Son of God, on earth, did love; 
 And such His Father's kingdom make above. 
 
 THE STRICKEN AND DESPONDING ONE.' 
 
 O dark and dreary is my way 
 Along this gloomy "Vale of Tears;" 
 
 And not the feeblest, faintest ray 
 To cheer my drooping heart appears !. 
 
 Forever vanished is the light 
 That once upon my pathway shone ; 
 
 Faded the scenes so gay and bright : 
 
 All gone ! all gone! 
 
48 nURALMUSE, 
 
 How many once to me so dear, 
 From this bleak world have pas-^ed aw ay ; 
 
 And yet I sadly linger here, 
 Imprisoned in my house of clay. 
 
 Of ail the blessing's I possessed 
 In early life, I now have none; 
 
 Of all the hopes that filled my breast, 
 
 Not one ! Not one 1 
 
 And now, in my declining years, 
 
 Without a spot to call a home ; 
 Oppressed with sorrows and with cares, 
 
 FroTn place to place I sadly roam. 
 Forc^bodings dark, my peace destroy, 
 
 When I the future would explore, 
 And this poor heart now throbs with joy 
 No more ! no more ! 
 
 Threescore and six long tedious years 
 I in this world of woe have been ; 
 
 A century the time appears, 
 Sojnauch of trouble I have seen. 
 
 I feel like one whose shattered bark 
 Is on the raging billows tosse(i ; 
 
 Whose hopes are in the prospect dark 
 
 Alllost! all lost I 
 
 In stern Adversity's hard school 
 
 A lesson sad I daily take ; 
 My heart, crushed by her iron rule 
 
 And heavy hand, ere long must break. 
 How long, how long shall I be here 
 
 Where thorns and snares my pathway throng ? 
 A spirit voice sounds in my ear, 
 
 * 'Not long. Not long. " 
 
 Yes, soon my journey will be o'er ; 
 
 My sun is now declining fast ; 
 The lengthening shadows fall before ; 
 
 I soon on earth shall look my last. 
 
mm A L AT WE. 49 
 
 A fow Dior(> (lark and eheeriess? years, 
 
 At most, perchance, I here may dwell; 
 Then ^)iall 1 bid this "Vale of Tears" 
 
 Farewell ! Farewell ! 
 
 ANGEL WHISPERS; OR, PBAY AND TRUST 
 
 A RIOSl'dXSK TM THIC FortKOOIXt;. 
 
 Poor child of Sorrow and of Care ! 
 Dejected, wandering here and there, 
 In this "waste howling wilderness," 
 This world of sin and wretchedness ; 
 If thou wilt steer thy course aright, 
 And seek "a country out of sight," 
 Grace will be given unto thee, 
 And as thy day thy strength shall be. 
 Keep, then, the straight, the narrow way, 
 And ever liumbly trust and pray. 
 
 Each weary step that thou dost make 
 Will leave one less for thee t^^ take ; 
 Each fiery trial that is past 
 Will liring thee nearer to the last. 
 Look not around thee and despond. 
 But look above, and look beyond; 
 "The Sun of Righteousness" behold, 
 And the bright world of joys untold. 
 Let nothing, then, thy soul dismay. 
 But pray and trust, and trust and pray. 
 
 Dismiss thy sorrows and thy fears, 
 And cast on Jesus all thy cares. 
 He 'II closer than a brother cleave 
 To those who in His name believe, 
 And ever be their Guide and Friend. 
 Until they reach their journey's end. 
 If dangers then, thy pathway throng. 
 On Him rely ; in Him be strong. 
 If troubles come, as come they must. 
 Then trust and pray, and pray and trust. 
 
r>0 RURAL MUSE. 
 
 T\yj\xg\\ oft thy prayers may seem in vain, 
 
 Let faith thy sinking sonl sustain ; 
 
 Still trust in God ; still breathe thy prayer, 
 
 Warm from the heart, into His ear. 
 
 And if He should deny thee still, 
 
 Be thou resigned unto His will ; 
 
 Nor let rebellious thoughts arise. 
 
 Though thy petition He denies. 
 
 "Hope on ; hope ever ;" come what may ; 
 
 Still pray and trust ; still trust and pray. 
 
 O TALK TO ME OF HEAVEN. 
 
 A I.lTTf.K Clia, IS Sl'l'l'OSKD TO ADDRIOSS HER MOTUKR IN SUKSTAXCK 
 IX THK FOLLOWING WORDS.- 
 
 O talk to me dear mother, of that pure bright world above 
 Where we shall meet again the friends that here we used 
 to love. 
 
 how I love to listen, dearest mother, while you tell 
 
 Of that world of bliss and glory where God and angels 
 dwell ! 
 
 1 often think I hear the strains those happy spirits sing 
 Of praise and adoration to their great eternal King. 
 
 'T is then I feel within my heart a pure and holy flame. 
 And long to join those angel bands in praises to His name. 
 
 I know that if I 'm holy here, like them I too shall be 
 
 An angel in that spirit world, from sin and sorrow free. 
 
 Yes, with that bright and happy throng my Savior I '11 
 adore, 
 
 And with the friends that here I loved shall live forever- 
 more. 
 
 LITTLE ELLEN HOGAN. 
 
 In a village Volney named, 
 In the county of old Logan, 
 
 Dwells a charming little girl, 
 And her name is Ellen Hogan. 
 
RUUALMUSE. 51 
 
 She is indeed a lovely cliiid ; 
 
 Her skin is fair, her eyes are 1 >lue : 
 Her countenance is sweet and mild ; 
 
 Intelligent and pleasant too. 
 
 And though, like every other child, 
 Some faults she has, they 're few and small : 
 
 Look in her innocent, sweet face. 
 And soon you will forget them all. 
 
 Like sunshine in a May morn s\vt^et, 
 Or cloudless sky, is that young face ; 
 
 Ellen is in her person neat. 
 And in her every movement grace. 
 
 O may this flower that now so bright 
 
 Blooms in this desert waste below, 
 No chilling blast, no early blight 
 
 To mar its grace or beauty know. 
 
 And Avhen no more on earth 't is seen, 
 Then brighter may it bloom on high, 
 
 Beneath a heavenly sky serene, 
 Where flowers never fade nor die. 
 
 TO MISS LIZZIE— 
 
 Ah, why do I, while others sleep. 
 My solitary vigils keep 
 
 Through all the tedious, livelong night ? 
 Why do I heave the deep-drawn sigh, 
 And wish the hours would swiftly fly. 
 
 And bring the welcome morning light ? 
 
 Whj^ is it that when cheerful day 
 Has chased the shades of night away, 
 
 I still no peace, no comfort feel ? 
 Why is it that amid the throng, 
 While sounds the lively jest and song, 
 
 Such gloom and sadness o'er me steal ? 
 
RIJMAL MU^'jt:. 
 
 Sweet girl ! although so free IVoiii art, 
 Yet thou hast closely round niy heart 
 
 The strongest, tenderest ties entwined ; 
 Lasting as iile itself; and there, 
 in ail its beauty, bright and fair, 
 
 Thy elianning image is eneiiained. 
 
 But ah, sad fate! 1 strive in vidn. 
 One look of favor to obtain 
 
 From those bewitciiing eyes of thine. 
 Though 1 shall never love thee less. 
 Another will thy heart possess ; 
 
 It never can res})ond to mine. 
 
 'T is this that rankles in my br<^ast; 
 'T is this deprives me of my rest; 
 
 Nor can 1 break the fated spell. 
 Then from thee 1 must go forever, 
 Though absence ne'er my chains can sever. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Lizzie ! fare the well I 
 
 A EULOGISTIC ^'POME" ON T. 
 
 M-l.;iTTK\ FOR MISS .V:\RV T. SVCTHS A]. BUM BY "Sli MP.i IDV 
 
 A cup of chocolate some take, 
 Or coffee, with nice buttered cake. 
 And breakfast, thus, or supper make : 
 My taste with tiieirs can't quite agree ; 
 Though good their beverage may be. 
 
 My choice is T. 
 
 And others, on a cold, raw day. 
 Will whisky drink, for that, they say, 
 Can drive both heat and cold away : 
 But though all this quite true may be, 
 Yet \vhm\ from cold I would be free,, 
 
UUUAL MUSE. 53 
 
 Many troiii heat or lever dry, 
 
 For "Water! Water]" loudly cry; 
 
 "O givi.' me water, or 1 die !'' 
 
 'T is 8u;>d, i know ; but then, you see, 
 
 Water U not the thing for me ; 
 
 I ask for T. 
 
 i love T, as I love my life ; 
 
 Aye, even a,s 1 would a wife 
 
 From grumbling free, and free from striie. 
 
 Let others drink their grog with glee, 
 
 And coli'ee too ; but a.s for me, 
 
 O give me T. 
 
 AN ACROSTIC 
 
 ox A NiKCF, OK TiiK .M'THOKts, :;: .sRMM; j.f (;nni)[,i: J T,n'uj,i,, 7?aviik;():s' •;•.).. T!;\: 
 
 Just in thy life's young bloom, how bright, how fair 
 Are all terrestial things, sweet girl, to tht^e; 
 No somber trace of sorrow or of care, 
 Enstamped upon thy youthful ),iow we see. 
 
 Thou canst, as yet, no lowering cloud discern, 
 
 Rising to mar the beauties of thy sky ; 
 
 In thy young ear has been no leclure aiorn 
 
 By sad Experience read ; and scarce a sigh 
 
 Burst from thy gentle breast, or from thine eye. 
 
 Lustrous and eloquent, one tear-drop stole, 
 
 Ere Hope's sweet yootliing powei has cheered thy soul, 
 
 May Heaven preserve thee safe fioni every ill ; 
 
 And Hope and Peace thy fut^jre days attend. 
 
 Revere thy Maker : strive zo da His wiii : 
 
 Then will He over prove to thee a Friend. 
 
 In all thy words and acm view Him alone ; 
 
 Nor think one thoughfThat cnoii woulds^ blush to' own. 
 
51 RURAL MUSE, 
 
 MINISTERING SPIRITS. 
 
 The noonday's fervent heat is ptjst, and the shades of 
 twilight are gatherinj^ around me. This is the hour for 
 contemplation, when the mind, sinking into temporary 
 forgetfulness of the present, fondly turnH to the past, and 
 lives over again the days and years that have long gone by. 
 
 The piist — the past— O how many sadly pleasing rem- 
 iniscences are blended with the hours that are departed, 
 never more to return ! 
 
 My fancy reverts to the days of my (childhood, to that 
 peaceful and happy home where my being ])egan, with all 
 the endearing and hallo^ved associations that cluster around 
 it. T think of the friends, the beloved friends whose soci- 
 ety was once like a sunbeam to my soul — whose ever well 
 remenil)ered forms and features are still so fondly cherished 
 in the deepest recesses of my heart. Where, ah where are 
 they now? Some, like ripe shocks, have been gathered 
 into the heavenly garner; others, in all the beauty and 
 freshness of early youth, liave passed away from earth, and 
 are now in the spirit world "from whose bourn no traveler 
 returns;" others again, have gone to distant lands: but 
 none are forgotten. "Though lost to sight," they are still 
 "to memory dear." 
 
 Memory — O the magic of that mysterious, inexplicable 
 faculty of the mind ! Linking the present with the past, 
 it brings again to view the beloved ones of other days. 
 Oft in tlie still and pensive hour of twilight, when Nature 
 seems hushed into repose, I retire from the companionship 
 of the living to hold, as it were, communion with the spirits 
 of the departed ones whom these mortal eyes shall behold 
 no more ; and I feel consolation and happiness in the 
 thought that, perhaps, some of them may be near me in 
 their irianifestations of love. 
 
RUBAL MUSE. 55 
 
 And who will say that there is not a mysterious commu- 
 nication between the living and the dead? and that our 
 departed friends do not exercise an invisible guardianship 
 over those whom once they loved on earth? "Are they 
 not sent forth as ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation?" 
 
 We know not now, but we shall know hereafter. Ere 
 long we too shall be inhabitants of that unknown, eternal 
 world, and initiated into all its mysteries, all its secrets. 
 Then, and not until then, shall we fully know, even as we 
 are fully known. 
 
 THOUGHTS 
 
 SUGGESTED BY AN AFTERNOON RAMBT.E IN AUTUMN. 
 
 Summer, with its verdant groves and fields ; its sunny 
 
 skies ; its blooming and fragrant flowers, has passed away ; 
 
 and Autumn, staid and pensive Autumn, with her sober 
 
 mellow charms, and gorgeous tints, comes again "to rule 
 
 the varied year." 
 
 Save, now^ and then, a plaintive, solitary note from some 
 lingering feathered warbler, silence reigns in the groves, 
 for the little songsters, that a short time since, made them 
 vocal with the melody of their music, have departed to a 
 more genial clime. The lovely tribes of Flora's reign have, 
 nearly all, disappeared, and the shrunken streams mur- 
 mur liiintly in their pebbly beds. The sun which so lately 
 dazzled the eye v/ith his brilliancy, now veils his head in 
 the thin clouds that float along the sky, or looks through 
 the haze which spreads, like a gloomy pall, over the party- 
 colored forests, and sere and parched fields whence comes 
 the mournful, dirge-like wail of myriads of expiring insects. 
 This is the season for contemplation. In musing mood, 
 and with slow and pensive step, I wander through the 
 woods, lately dark with their thick and heavy foliage. No 
 sound falls upon my ear save the coarse croak of the raven, 
 the chatter of the squirrel, the melancholy dropping of 
 nuts ; the fitful moaning of the evening breeze, or the al- 
 most inaudible sound of the falling leaves, as, in mournful 
 
56 BUBAL 3IUSE. 
 
 eddies they slowly and gently fall to the ground, seeming- 
 ly to admonish me of the time, now near at hand, when I 
 too must go down in silence to my final resting jjlace. 
 
 While thus I behold Nature sinking, as it were, into 
 the arms of Death, a solemn feeling steals over my spirit. 
 Looking back through the dim vista of departed years, I 
 seem again to behold many whose companionship 1 once 
 enjoyed, but with whom I shall commingle on earth no 
 more. Like the grass of the field, and the flowers of sum- 
 mer, they have passed away. Their bodies have returned 
 to their original dust, and their spirits to ^se God who 
 gave them. 
 
 I visit, in mind, the place of their repose ; and, gazing 
 sadly on the tombs of the dead, involuntarially exclaim, 
 "Shall these dry bones live ?" A voice, deep and solemn, 
 seems to come up from the narrow beds of the sleeping 
 saints, "Because I live," they "shall live also." As Na- 
 ture, now seemingly sinking into death, shall be renewed 
 in all her loveliness, even so shall it be with those inani- 
 mate forms. The voice of the Archangel and the Trump 
 of God shall rend their tombs, and wake them from their 
 long, long sleep ; there shall be a noise and a shaking ; and 
 bone shall come to his ])one ; the Lord will lay sinews upon 
 them, and bring flesh upon them, and cover them with 
 skin ; He will cause l^reath to enter into them, and they 
 shall live, and stand upon their feet, an exceedingly great 
 army before the judgment seat of the Most High. Then 
 shall those wdio have ]:>een long separated from beloved 
 friends and relatives be reunited to them forever. 
 
 And shall we recognize each other in the resurrection ? 
 With the Sacred Volume of Inspiration in our hand, I 
 think that we may, without doubt or hesitation, give to 
 this controverted question an affirmative answer. The 
 Scriptures we regard as the highest authority in deciding 
 this matter, and from them we learn that in the spirit 
 world, although at an immense distance from them, the 
 rich man not only recognized Lazarus, but knew even 
 Abraham whom he had never seen. We are also told that 
 Peter, even while he was in the flesh, although he had 
 never seen Moses or Elijah, knew both of them when they 
 
liVRALMUSE. 57 
 
 appeared with Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration. Na- 
 ture itself seems to give us an assurance that we sliall know 
 our friends hereafter. Why come these irrepressible heart- 
 yearnings ; these earnest longings ; these hopes and desires 
 for a reunion with our friends and relatives if there be no 
 recognition of them in a future state ? Shall we know less 
 when we are more perfect than we know now. Reason, 
 and I think Revelation, alike forbid a thought so full of 
 sadness. In the future state "we shall know even as we 
 are known." We shall know even those whom we never 
 beheld; the patriarchs, the prophets, the apostles, and all 
 the angelic host by name. In the mean time, let us derive 
 consolation from this blessed hope.' 
 
 A frag:\ient. 
 
 O liow often has my soul yearned for the intercourse of some 
 congenial spirit— one whose nature is assimilated to my own ; 
 one who could analyze and understand my th(^ughts ; one, in 
 iine, whose feelings, tastes and sejitiments exaciy harmonized 
 with mine 
 
 ■^ ■" -r Sf -Ji ^J 
 
 And I have thought if communion with a kindred spirit is so 
 sweet, so pleasing in this world where so much imperfection 
 exists ; where the faculties of the mind are so Ihnited, and those 
 of the soul so straipfetened and confined in their operations, 
 how unspeakably delightful must he the intercourse of those 
 celestial intelligences who are freed from all the imperfections 
 inseparable from humanity, and whose minds, unintiuencedl3y 
 material organization, range unfetered and uncontrolled; anil 
 boundless and illimitable as the fields of space themselves. 
 
 How glorious, how transporting is the thought that this sin- 
 stricken world is not our abiding place ; that these earthly 
 prison-houses, these tenements of clay that now confine our 
 spirits, shall, ere long, be dissolved ; and then, if we have 
 proved faithful in the service of our Heavenly Master, this mor- 
 tality shall put on immortality, and we shall be freed from all 
 the imperfections of our present nature ; from all the cares and 
 sorrows of this probationary state ; and above ail— from sin ! 
 Truly the christian has reason to say that it is a pleasant thing 
 to die ! for with him, Death is only the passing into eternal life ! 
 
58 BUBAL MUSE. 
 
 ON FASfllON. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO BK WRITTKN, AS A SCHOOL EXERCISE, BY A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 There are few things that control the human family, especially 
 the young, more than Fashion. Some indeed have gone so far 
 as to say, "As well be out of the world as out of fashion." "A 
 love of p bonnet," &v a jaunty hat, or an embroidered handker- 
 chief, possess, for many, charms perfectly irrisistable ; and the 
 Fashion Plates in the various periodicals, now flooding our 
 country, form to them, by far, the most attractive feature of 
 these works. How often do we see the youthful maiden bend- 
 ing, hour after hour, over her work, copying, with tlie greatest 
 exactness, some elaborate fancy pattern or crochet from Godey, . 
 Graham, Peterson or Leslie, while her books of religious in- 
 struction, history and science, lying neglected on the shelf or 
 table, show, but too plainly, that with her, the improvement of 
 the mind is a matter of tar less importance than the decoration 
 of the body. 
 
 Fashion is but too often another name for F0II3' ; and though 
 among both sexes it may be seen in extremes, and not unfre- 
 quently in the most absurd and preposterous forms, yet candor 
 constrains me to say that the female sex are most under its 
 influence, sacrificing, in their devotion to it, ease, comfort, 
 health, and, oft-times, even life itself. 
 
 Behold that delicate young lady with her waist compressed 
 to less than three fourths of its natural size ! The laborious 
 respiration and distended neck veins show how dreadful a 
 penance she is pacing for her vanity and her folly ; but the 
 tortures to wliich she subjects herself, must be borne with firm- 
 ness, for is it not the Fashion? And should she even fall a 
 victim to the imperious fashion which thus constrains her to 
 suffer, she will have, at least, the satisfaction of being a fash- 
 ionable victim. 
 
 Farther on, we behold a group of young ladies who seem to 
 be very busily engaged. Let us see what it is that thus inter- 
 ests them. They are seated around a box of snuff into which, 
 from time to time, they eagerly plunge little wooden tooth- 
 brushes, with which, for hours together, they vigorously scrub 
 their teeth ! What signifies it if their pretty ruby lips are all 
 besmeared with the filthy stuff, or if they lacerate their tender 
 gums, and discolor and ruin their pearly teeth by this ungen- 
 teel, disgusting and filthy habit ? What boots it though they 
 become stupefied, and even intoxicated from the soporific effects 
 
BUBAL MUSE. 59 
 
 of so powerful a narcotic? What care they though \\\ey ruin 
 their minds and their constitutions ? It is the fashion, and 
 from this there is no appeal. 
 
 I might speak at some length, and in terms of reprehension, 
 concerning some of the fashions of the other sex, particularly 
 of that human biped, that almost nonentity called the dandy ; 
 but I feel more interested in the welfare of m^^ young female 
 friends and acquaintances. To them I would affectionately 
 say, conform co fashion only so far as is consistent with good 
 sense and good taste. Be always behind, rather than in ad- 
 vance of the fashions of the day. Let not the love of fashion 
 interfere with the cultivation of your minds ; neither let your 
 adorning be that outward adorning of putting on gold, or of 
 wearing costly apparel, but the ornament of a meek and quiet 
 sj^irit which in the sight of God is of great price. 
 
 W INTER. 
 
 SUPPOSKD TO BE WRITTEN BY A LITTLE SCHOOL-GIRL AS A COMPOSITION. 
 
 Winter, with his frosts and clouds, his snows and chilh" 
 whistling blasts, has come again. 
 
 But though stern and gloomy, Winter is not without its pleas- 
 ures. We will suppose that it is now Christmas eve. See how 
 busy the little ones are, hanging up their socks and stockings, 
 on the Christmas tree, expecting to find them in the morning 
 filled with the gifts of that good winter friend of children, the 
 generous old Santa Glaus. 
 
 Let us now take a peep out of doors. See the frozen lakes 
 and ponds covered with joyous young skaters. Look at that 
 fat old gentleman ; how he comes puffing along. Gracious me ! 
 he is ftying on his back with his heels high in the air. Poor 
 old man ! but he is too fleshy to be hurt much ; and after a while 
 he slowlj' rises, and, like a brave old fellow, tries it again. 
 
 Now comes a gay and youthful couple — a dashing beau, and 
 a charming belle, in full career. How gracefully they glide 
 over the smooth surface of the large pond ! Is it not beautiful ? 
 
 What sound is it that strikes the ear ? It is the lively jingle 
 of the sleigh-bells. Here come the gay vehicles, filled witli 
 many laughing youngsters of both sexes. Ah me ! one has 
 capsized ! No one hurt, however. Loud and cheerfully rings 
 out their merry laugh, as they pick themselves up ; and sha- 
 king off the snow from their furs, they lightly spring again into 
 their vehicle, and away, away they go. 
 
60 RURAL MUSE, 
 
 With all its clouds and gloom, I still love bracing, liealthi'ul 
 Winter; love to sit by the cheerful fireside, cracking nuts and 
 jokes, or listening to the tales of hoary age. I love too to take 
 the invigorating, refreshing morning air, and to come to my 
 studies, or my work with spirits made light and buoyant by 
 exercise and a pure, exhilarating morning atmosphere. Wel- 
 come ! old Winter, despite your lowering clouds ; your driving 
 snows, and biting blasts. 
 
 THE CREATOR SEEN IN HIS WORKS. 
 
 SUPPOSED TO F.E WRITTEN, AS A THESIS, BY A YOUNG STUDENT. 
 
 "The fool hath said in heart, there is no God." "His eyes 
 wander," with a vacant gaze "to the ends of the earth;" the 
 wonders of creation are continually before him ; but he per- 
 ceives no trace of the Creator who is over all and in all. 
 
 The wise man's eyes are in his head," and his ears are open. 
 He can hear the voice of praise to God in the rippling stream, 
 read sermons in storms, and see God in everything. He be- 
 holds the bright luminary of day coming forth in a flood oi 
 glory from the chambers of the east, and w^orships ^e-iSii»d who > 
 made it. He sees the same bright orb sinking in the glowing 
 west in his gorgeous pavilion of tinted clouds, the beautiful 
 drapery of the skies, and again he lifts up his heart in praise 
 and adoration. Vv'hen Nighl sjDreads her sable mantle over the 
 earth he tixes his eyes on the azure vault above, and as he sur- 
 veys the shining worlds that move in "solemn silence" and 
 sublimity over his head, he hears in them a voice which finds 
 an echo in his heart ; and, in holy rapture, exclaims with the 
 inspired Psalmist, "The heavens declare the glory of God, and 
 the firmament showeth the work of His hands ! Day unto day 
 uttereth speech, and night showeth instruction unto night!" 
 
 The man of contemplation, like Isaac of old, walks at noon- 
 tide, in the fields to meditate. With the eye of a botanist he 
 considers the flowers, admires their delicate texture and beau- 
 tiful tints, painted with the pencil of Heaven, and exclaims, 
 "Truly, 'Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of 
 these!'" 
 
 Even the poor Indian, the tawny son of the forest. 
 
 Whose soul proud science never taught to stray 
 
 Far as the solar walk or milky way ; 
 
 Yes, even he with his untutored mind, 
 
 Sees God in clouds, and hears Him in the wind. 
 
BUBAL 3WSE. 61 
 
 Lost in thought, he gazes on the cloud-capped mountain and 
 the wide-spread valley. He views, in amazement, -the mighty 
 deep, and listens to its solemn, ceaseless roar. He sees the 
 bright and blinding lightning-flash ; hears, with awe, the roll- 
 ing thunder, and looks with admiration on the ever beautiful 
 rainbow as gracefully it stretches its varigated arch over hill 
 and vale. He holds communion with his Maker through His 
 works ; and though the light of Revelation may not have dawn- 
 ed upon his benighted mind, the simple child of Nature bows 
 in adoration to the Great Spiiit, and cries, "Abba! Father!" 
 
 That there is a Gcd ^ 
 
 "All Nature cries aloud in all her works :" 
 "for the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world 
 are clearly seen, being understood [or manifested] by the things 
 that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead;" so that 
 even with the light afforded by Nature alone the Atheist is left 
 without excuse for his disbelief in the existence of a God. 
 
 He need only look at himself to learn this simple fact, for he 
 IS "fearfully and wonderfully made." The admirable adapted- 
 ness of every member of his body for the office it was designed 
 to perform, shows not only the power, but also the infinite 
 goodness and wisdom of the Creator ; and this remark holds 
 true likewise in regard to the inferior animals, every creature 
 being fully adapted to the element in which it was intended 
 that it should move, whether in the earth or on the earth ; in 
 the water or in the air. 
 
 Let us examine,. practically, the structure of birds and fishes, 
 and we shall be forcibly struck with the truth of this remark. 
 How admirably are these formed for their respective elements ! 
 Man, it is true, has been enabled by artificial means, to navi- 
 gate the air, and descend into the great deep ; but this was only 
 for a few hours, at most; and, owing to the imj^erfection of the 
 means employed, such exi>eriments have always been attended 
 with more or less danger, and sometimes even the loss of life. 
 Not thus is it with the creatures which God has destined to 
 move in the expanse above, or in the deep below. These are 
 thoroughly fitted for their manner of life. 
 
 What is more pleasing than to behold the sublime aerial ev- 
 olutions of the eagle or the fish hawk, sometimes poised almost 
 motionless in the air, sometimes darting with the velocity of 
 an arrow upon their prey, and sometimes gracefully and ma- 
 gestically soaring high, and with scarcely any visible exertion, 
 among the clouds. 
 
62 BUBAL MUSE, 
 
 For the purpose of enabling birds to sustain long continued 
 aerial flights the muscles of their wings, particularly those of 
 migratorj^ birds, or birds of passage, exceed in strength the 
 muscular power of any other of the animal creation. This and 
 their peculiar formation in various respects, all combine to 
 enable them to remain, without fatigue, many successive hours 
 in the air, and also to change their direction apparently by a 
 simple impulse of the will. 
 
 As the bird is borne through the air by the help of wings, in 
 like manner the fish is propelled through the water by means 
 of fins Avhich serve as oars. The pectoral and dorsal fins assist 
 the animal in moving onward, while that at the extremity of 
 the tail may be regarded as a kind of steering oar or rudder for 
 the purpose of directing its course. The entire body of the fish 
 is covered with a slimy substance by means of which it makes 
 its way through the water with ease and celerity. The fish is 
 also furnished with an air-bladder ; and by contracting or ex- 
 panding this, and thus increasing or diminishing its specific 
 gravity, it can rise or sink at pleasure, or remain stationary at 
 any depth. In all this we behold the contrivance of infinite 
 wisdom and infinite goodness. 
 
 We might multiply words, and elaborate this subject far be- 
 yond the limits of an ordinary essay in proof of the existence 
 of a God; but this we deem altogether unnecessary. Ti^e 
 regular returns of the seasons, the vicissitudes of day and nigL: , 
 and even the growth of our bodies would alone demonstrtUe 
 this truth. To every rational mind it is perfectly self-evident, 
 and therefore needs no lengthened argument to sustain it. Pur- 
 suing a chain of reasoning from effect to cause we are sure to 
 arrive, ultimately, at some uncaused Cause ; or, perhaps, to 
 speak more properly, some "Great First Cause ;" some unorig- 
 inated, self-existing Being, prior to all others, and consequently 
 their Creator, and this Being we call God. 
 
iM.: