THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 PRIJJTEI! A."ND PUBLISHED 
 SIT EUHig©:?' SCOTT; B^ILIL. AKITOILD &C? 
 LONDON. 1833.
 
 
 TO 
 
 THE PUPIL 
 
 BEOOKFIELD SCHOOL 
 
 KEA.R WIGTON", 
 
 CUMBERLAND 

 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In this day of poetical selections, it may be thought 
 that every possible want is supplied, and that no 
 I'oom is left for any addition to this already 
 numerous class of publications. Many of these are 
 unquestionably of approved and varied character, — 
 yet, some circumstances connected with the educa- 
 tion of youth, united to an earnest desire to please 
 and benefit this interesting- part of the community, 
 have led to the publication of another small volume ; 
 which, with a feeling of diffidence, is now offered 
 to the public. Great pains have been taken in 
 gathering such flowers of perfume and sweetness as 
 will not quickly fade, and it is hoped that this little
 
 IV. PKEFACE. 
 
 volume may prove useful to those who are engaged 
 in the culture of youthful minds. Such pieces only 
 have heen chosen as contain chaste and pious senti- 
 ments, calculated to refine and elevate the feelings, 
 and to impress christian truths and moral obliga- 
 tions, in a form at once pleasing and instructive. 
 
 If this desire of benefitting young persons be in 
 any degree realized, the time occupied in culling this 
 fresh bouquet will not have been spent in vain. 
 
 M.S.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOB5 
 
 Introductory Stanzas B, Barton 1 
 
 The Wanderer & the Night Blowing Flowers. F. Hemans 3 
 
 " How Old art Thou." L. H. C. i 
 
 Lines on Religious Impression, H. R. 8 
 
 Evening Musings S. SticJcney 8 
 
 Moonlight /. Montgomery ] 
 
 The Idol Anon. II 
 
 Who is my Neighbour ? , Anon. H 
 
 The Winter Walk at Noon Cowper 13 
 
 Field Flowers Moral of Flowers 14 
 
 "There is a River." L. S. 16 
 
 To the Round-Leaved Sun Dew Waring 17 
 
 The Transplanted Flower Mrs. Abdy 1 8 
 
 On Memory Holford 19 
 
 The Sensitive Plant Moral of Flowers 21 
 
 The Parting Ship Hemans 22 
 
 The Happiness of the Godly B.Barton 34 
 
 Death of an Infant L, Sigourney 26 
 
 The Alpine Rhododendron Moral of Floicers 27 
 
 Regard due to the Feelings of others L. Huntley 29 
 
 A Mother's Love Hemans 30 
 
 Stan/as B.Barton 31 
 
 The Freed Bird Hemans 33 
 
 The Winter Walk at Noon Coieper 35 
 
 To the Memory of Henry Kirke White.... Byron 39 
 
 The Worm and the Flower J. Montgomery 40 
 
 TheNewYear S. 42 
 
 Wonders and Murmurs Anon. , 43 
 
 Home. Margaret M. Dairdson 46 
 
 To My Mother 47 
 
 The Use of Flowers Mary Howitt 49 
 
 The Summer Hotisman 60 
 
 The Midges Dance Aboon the Burn Tannahill 51
 
 VI. CONTENTS. 
 
 Blowing Bubbles H. F. Gould 53 
 
 Hymn to the Settinj,' Sun G. P. R. James 55 
 
 Humilitj' /. Montgomery 57 
 
 The Partin"^ Shij) Edmcston 58 
 
 The Convict Ship T. K. Hervey 60 
 
 Invocation F. Remans 62 
 
 To the Moon , J.Taylor 64 
 
 Voice of a Moment American " Friend." 66 
 
 Purity of Thought Indispensable, &c Cowper 68 
 
 The Forget Me Not , Moral of Flowers 69 
 
 On Friendship M. 70 
 
 Silence in Heaven B. Barton 72 
 
 The Dying Girl and Flowers Anon. 74 
 
 Hymn B.Barton 76 
 
 Lines on a Baby H. C. 77 
 
 The Polish Children ,.... Pardee 78 
 
 Early Days Anon. 80 
 
 Helvellyn A. H. S. 82 
 
 The Bird let loose Moore 84 
 
 To the Rhine Anon. 85 
 
 The Darkened Cage Mrs. Ahdy 87 
 
 Praise and Prayer B.Barton 89 
 
 The Value of a Moment /. Montgomery 90 
 
 The Hour of Death F. Hemans 91 
 
 To an Absent Partner Heher 93 
 
 "The More Convenient Season." Anon. 95 
 
 The Last Rites L.E.L. 97 
 
 Farewell Anon. 99 
 
 Retirement and Prayer B. Barton ] 00 
 
 Hadallah at the Fountain of the Desert. ,,,, L. P. 101 
 
 " Passing Away." Anon. 104 
 
 Isle of Beauty, Fare Thee Well Bayley 1 05 
 
 The Better Land F. Hemans 107 
 
 The Greek Girl's Song Pardoe 108 
 
 The Twin Sisters. Mrs. Ahdy 110 
 
 Prayer F. Hemans 113 
 
 "Thou'rtGaue Awa.Mary." Motherwell 112
 
 CONTENTS. VU, 
 
 Twilight J. Mo7ilgmHcry lir< 
 
 Nature's Farewell F. Ilcmans 1 1 6 
 
 Congenial Spiri's Mrs. Ahdy 118 
 
 The Spirit and the Bride Lena. 119 
 
 The Homes of England F. Ilcmans 120 
 
 Signs and Tokens B. Barton 1 32 
 
 The Message to the Dead F. Remans 123 
 
 "The North Countrie." Q. Q. 126 
 
 The Ivy B. Barton 127 
 
 The Sky Lark /. Hoi^g 130 
 
 Thought Anon. 131 
 
 Thfe Power of Memory T. Camplell 132 
 
 The Home Fever Anon. 133 
 
 The Bird at Sea Anon. 136 
 
 Life and Death Anon. 138 
 
 Wisdom .,.,, L. F. H. 139 
 
 The Altar's Simplicity B.Barton 141 
 
 Cruelty to Animals Cowper 142 
 
 Lines on Liberating a Chamois Anon. 114 
 
 The Murdered Slave M. B. Tuclcey 1 4S 
 
 "What is Truth M M. Inglis 147 
 
 View of the Lake Geneva from the Jura Moore 148 
 
 "Go Where the River." J. Hamilton 151 
 
 To Mr. George Bennet J.Montgomery 152 
 
 Coeur de Lion B. Barton 159 
 
 John Howard JB. Barton 157 
 
 Spring, the Morning of Life — Dew, &c Anon. 15g 
 
 Temper as it should be H.Moore 160 
 
 The Graves of a Household F. Hemans 162 
 
 The Land which no Mortal may know B. Barton 164 
 
 A Thunder Storm Boher I Montgomery 165 
 
 Victoria's Tears /Inovi. 167 
 
 Woman's Prayer H. Stehhing 169 
 
 To a Pen B.C. 171 
 
 Psalm xix S. 172 
 
 Valedictory Verses ' B. Barton 174
 
 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. 
 
 Tu bud, to blossom, and to fade ; 
 
 May seem of flowers the tale ; — 
 Why seek to twine a deathless braid 
 
 Of things so slight, and frail ? 
 
 Because unto the simplest flower 
 
 Is given a magic art, , 
 
 To point — in meditation's hour, 
 
 Some moral to the heart. 
 
 Surely that moral best may plead 
 
 Its tenderness and truth. 
 With those who such fair tablets read 
 
 While yet in opening youth. 
 
 Did not our blessed Lord — who taught 
 
 As man can never teach. 
 Unfold — to feeling, and to thought, 
 
 The truths which these can preach ? 
 
 B
 
 INTRODUCTORY STANZAS. 
 
 Behold the lilies of the field, 
 
 They neither spin, nor toil ; 
 And yet the pomp by kings reveal'd — 
 
 To them is but a foil. 
 
 Can blame, then, unto those belong 
 
 Who thus, in leisure hours, 
 Have sought to cull from realms of song 
 
 A wreath of stainless flowers. 
 
 Not glean'd to glad the sense, alone, 
 
 Or captivate the eye. 
 And then, like weeds, aside be thrown. 
 
 To wither, and to die. 
 
 But one whose virtue should out-last 
 
 The beauty it displays ; 
 And be, like bread on waters cast, 
 
 Found in far distant days. 
 
 B. BARTON.
 
 CULLED FLOWERS. 
 
 THE WANDERER AND THE NIGHT 
 BLOWING FLOWERS. 
 
 Call back your odours, lovely flowers, 
 From the night winds call them back, 
 
 And fold your leaves till the laughing hours 
 Come forth in the sunbeam's track. 
 
 The lark lies couched in her grassy nest, 
 
 And the honey bee is gone. 
 And all bright things are away to rest, 
 
 Why watch ye here alone ? 
 
 Is not your world a mournful one, 
 When your sisters close their eyes, 
 
 And your soft breath meets not a lingering tone 
 Of song in the stan-y skies ?
 
 THE WANDERER, ETC. 
 
 Take ye no joy in the day-spring's birth, 
 When it kindles the sparks of dew ? 
 
 And the thonsand strains of the forest's mirth. 
 Shall they gladden all but you ? 
 
 Shut your sweet bells till the fawn comes out 
 
 On the sunny turf to play. 
 And the woodland child with a fairy shout 
 
 Goes dancing on its way ! 
 
 " Nay, let our shadowy beauty bloom 
 When the stars give quiet light, 
 And let us oifer our faint perfume 
 On the silent shrine of niiiht. 
 
 o 
 
 " Call it not wasted, the scent we lend 
 • To the breeze, when no step is nigh ; 
 Oh, thus for ever the earth should send 
 Her grateful breath on high ! 
 
 " And love us as emblems, night's dewy flowers, 
 Of hopes unto sorrow given. 
 That spring through the gloom of the darkest hours. 
 Looking alone to heaven !" 
 
 F. IIEMAXS.
 
 HOW OLD ART THOU.'' 
 
 "HOW OLD ART THOU?" 
 
 Count not the days that have idly flown, 
 
 The years that were vainly spent, 
 Nor speak of the hours thou must hlush to own 
 When thy spirit stands })efore the throne, 
 To account for the talents lent. 
 
 But number the hours redeem'd from sin, 
 
 The moments employ'd for heaven ; — 
 Oh, few and evil thy days have been. 
 Thy life a toilsome but worthless scene, 
 For a nobler purpose given. 
 
 Will the shade go back on thy dial plate ? 
 
 Will thy sun stand still on his way ? 
 Both hasten on ; and thy spirit's fate 
 Rests on the point of life's little date : — 
 
 Then " live while 'tis called to day." 
 
 Life's waning hours, like the Sybil's page, 
 
 As they lessen, in value rise ; 
 Oh, rouse thee and live ! nor deem that man's age 
 Stands in the length of his pilgrimage. 
 
 But in days that are truly wise.
 
 LINES ON RELIGIOUS IMPRESSION. 
 
 LINES ON RELIGIOUS IMPRESSION. 
 
 ["There are those to whuni a sense of religion lias come in storm 
 and temiiest ; there are those wham it has summoned mid scenes of 
 revelry and idle vanity : there are those too who have lieard its small 
 still voice amid rural leisnre and placid contentment. But perhaps the 
 knowledge which causeth not to err is most frequently impressed upon 
 the mind during seasons of affliction ; and tears are the softened 
 showers which cause the seed of Heaven to spring and take root in the 
 human heart."] 
 
 MONASTERV. 
 
 To some hath God his words address'd 
 
 Mid symbols of his ire ; 
 And made his presence manifest 
 
 In whirlwind, storm and fire ; 
 Tracing with burning lines of flame 
 On trembling hearts his holy name. 
 
 By some the awful tones are heard 
 
 In bowers where roses blow ; 
 And where the heart's sweet thoughts are stirr'd 
 
 With music's magic flow ; 
 Young bosoms there in joys full hour 
 Have turned to God, and own'd his power.
 
 LINES ON RELIGIOUS IMPRESSION. 
 
 To some the solemn voice has spoken 
 
 In life's serene retreat ; 
 Where on the still heart sounds have broken 
 
 As from the Mercy- Seat, 
 Swelling in the soft harmonies 
 Which float on evening's tranquil breeze. 
 
 But chiefest when the heart is crush'd 
 
 By sin or sorrow's power ; 
 And each sweet voice of comfort hush'd 
 
 Wliich sooth'd in happier hour : 
 Oh, chiefest to the sufferer's ear. 
 That small still voice is ever near. 
 
 For human tears, like spring's soft shower, 
 To wounded hearts are given, 
 
 To quicken with their balmy power 
 The blessed seeds of Heaven ; 
 
 And flowers of bright immortal bloom 
 
 Burst from the darkness of the tomb. 
 
 H. R.
 
 EVTININO MUSINCS. 
 
 EVENING MUSINGS. 
 
 Evening dews are gently falling, 
 Evening glories gild the west, 
 
 Birds, with folded wing, are calling 
 Home the wanderers to their rest. 
 
 Lengthening now across the meadows. 
 Where the flocks no longer stray, 
 
 Softly steal the evening shadows 
 O'er the steps of parting day. 
 
 Silence reigns o'er moor and mountain, 
 Silence through the verdant vale, 
 
 Save where some melodious fountain 
 Tells its never ending tale. 
 
 Tells of stars, that nightly shining. 
 Lend their brightness to its breast — 
 
 Tells, and tells without repining, 
 How its waters know no rest. 
 
 Is there then no voice of sorrow ? 
 
 Not one murmur in the blast ? 
 No foreboding for the morrow ? 
 
 No lamenting o'er the past ?
 
 EVENING MUSINGS. 9 
 
 Child of tears, it is thy wailing-, 
 
 Thine alone that meets mine ear ; 
 Whence thy grief when all-prevailing 
 
 Love, and peace are mingling here ? 
 
 Wlience thy grief ? It is thy blessing, — 
 
 Thine alone, with conscious eye. 
 To look around thee, still confessing 
 
 God is here in earth and sky. 
 
 Child of tears ! thou art not slighted. 
 
 In the record of his love ; 
 Though perchance awhile benighted, 
 
 Seest thou not the star above ? 
 
 Knowest thou not the gracious message, ^ 
 
 Sent to all the sons of care ? 
 Heed not, then, the darkest presage, 
 
 God is present every where. 
 
 S. STICKNEY.
 
 10 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 We are beneath the dark bhie sky, 
 And the moon is shining^ l)right ; 
 
 Oh, what can lift the soul so high 
 As the glow of a summer's night ? 
 
 When all the gay are hush'd to sleep ; 
 
 When they that mourn forget to weep 
 Beneath that gentle light. 
 
 Is there no holier, hai)pier land. 
 Among those distant spheres. 
 
 Where we may meet that shadowy band — 
 The dead of other years ? 
 
 ^\llere all the day the moonbeams rest. 
 
 And where at length the souls are bless'd, 
 Of those that dwell in tears ? 
 
 Oh, if the happy ever leave 
 Their bowers of bliss on high. 
 
 To cheer the hearts of those that grieve 
 And wipe the tear drop dry ; 
 
 It is when moonlight sheds its ray 
 
 More pure and beautiful than day, 
 And earth is like the sky. 
 
 J. MONTGOMERY.
 
 THE IDOL WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? 11 
 
 THE IDOL. 
 
 Whatever passes as a cloud between 
 
 The mental eye of faith, and things unseen, 
 
 Causing- that better world to disappear. 
 
 Or seem less lovely and its hope less dear — 
 
 This is our world, our idol, though it bear 
 
 Affection's impress or devotion's air ! 
 
 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? 
 
 Thy neighljour ? It is he whom thou 
 
 Hast power to aid and bless, 
 Whose aching- heart and burning- brow 
 
 Thy soothing hand may press. 
 
 Thy neighbour? 'T is the fainting poor 
 Whose eye with want is dim, 
 
 Wliom hunger sends from door to door ;- 
 Go thou and succour him. 
 
 Thy neighbour ? ' T is that weary man, 
 Whose years are at their brim, 
 
 Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain ;- 
 Go thou and succour him.
 
 12 WnO IS MY NEIGHBOUR ? 
 
 Thv neidihour ? 'T is the heart Ijereft 
 
 Of every earthly gem ; 
 Widow and orphan, helpless left ; — 
 
 Go thou and shelter them. 
 
 Thy neighliour ? Yonder toiling- slave, 
 Fettered in thought and limh ; 
 
 Whose hopes are all beyond the grave ;- 
 Go thou and ransom him. 
 
 Whene'er thou meet'st a human form 
 Less favour'd than thine own. 
 
 Remember 't is thy neighbour worm, 
 Thy brother, or thy son. 
 
 Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by ; 
 
 Perhaps thou can'st redeem 
 The breaking heart from misery ; — 
 
 Go share thy lot with him. 
 
 It is in small things that hrotlieily kindness and charity consist.
 
 TUK WINTER WALK AT NOON. 13 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 Nature is but a name for an effect, 
 
 Wliose cause is God. He feeds the sacred fire 
 
 By which the mighty process is maintain'd ; 
 
 Who sleeps not, is not weary : in whose sight 
 
 Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 
 
 Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 
 
 No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts, 
 
 And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 
 
 * * * One spirit — His 
 
 Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows. 
 
 Rules universal Nature. Not a flower 
 
 But shews some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, 
 
 Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 
 
 Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues. 
 
 And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes 
 
 In grains as countless as the sea-side sands. 
 
 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 
 
 Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 
 
 Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, 
 
 Or what he views of beautiful or grand 
 
 In Nature, from the broad majestic oak 
 
 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,
 
 14 FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 Prompts with a remembrance of a present God. 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceiv'd. 
 Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 
 Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 
 Though winter had been none, had man been true. 
 And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, 
 Yet not in vengeance ; as this smiling' sky, 
 So soon succeeding such an angry night, 
 And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 
 Recovering fast its liquid music prove. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 FIELD FLOWERS. 
 
 Flowers of the field, how meet you seem 
 
 Man's frailty to pourtray. 
 Blooming so fair in morning's beam 
 
 Passing at eve away ; 
 Teach this, and oh ! though brief your reign, 
 Sweet flowers, ye shall not live in vain. 
 
 Go, form a monitory wreath 
 
 For youth's imthinking brow ; 
 Go, and to busy manhood breathe 
 
 What most he fears to know ; 
 Go, strew the path where age doth tread. 
 And tell him of the silent dead.
 
 FIELD FLOWERS. 15 
 
 But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay 
 
 Ye breathe these truths severe, 
 To those who droop in pale decay 
 
 Have you no word of cheer ? 
 Oh yes, ye weave a double spell, 
 
 And death and life betoken well. 
 
 Go, then, where wrapt in fear and gloom 
 
 Fond hearts and true are sighing, 
 And deck with emblematic bloom 
 
 The pillow of the dying ; 
 And softly speak, nor speak in vain, 
 Of your long sleep and broken chain. 
 
 And say that He who from the dust 
 
 Recalls the slumbering flower ; 
 Will surely visit those who trust 
 
 His mercy and His power ; 
 Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay, 
 And roll ere long the stone away. 
 
 MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Study to the mind is what exercise is to the body, neither can 
 be active or vigorous without proper exertion.
 
 16 "XHEUK IS A RIVKU.' 
 
 "TIIEKE IS A RIVER." 
 
 [" There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of 
 (joJ." — I'salm xlvi. 4.] 
 
 O, there is a peaceful river, 
 
 And its waters gently glide 
 From the throne it springs for ever, 
 
 Clear as crystal is its tide. 
 
 Its bright streams of endless pleasure 
 Have for countless ages flowed : 
 
 Spreading gladness without measure 
 Through the city of our God. 
 
 There the golden habitations 
 Of the saints in bliss are found, 
 
 And the leaves that heal the nations 
 Quiver to celestial sound. 
 
 By thy border's beauteous river. 
 
 In the paradise of rest, 
 May our spirits dwell for ever 
 
 With the spirits of the blest.
 
 TO THE ROUND LEAVED SUNDEW. 17 
 
 TO THE ROUND LEAVED SUNDEW. 
 
 By the lone fountain's secret bed, 
 Where human footsteps rarely tread, 
 'Mid the wild moor or silent glen, 
 The Sundew blooms unseen by men. 
 Spreads there her leaf of rosy hue, 
 A chalice for the morning dew, 
 And ere the summer's sun can rise 
 Drinks the pure waters of the skies. 
 
 Wouldst thou that thy lot were given 
 Thus to receive the dews of heaven ? 
 With heart prepared, like this meek flower, 
 Come then and hail the dawnins: hour. 
 So shall a blessing from on high. 
 Pure as the rain of summer's sky. 
 Unsullied as the morning dew. 
 Descend and all thy soul imbue.
 
 18 THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER. 
 
 Yes, like the blossoms of the waste, 
 Would we the sky-born waters taste, 
 To the high Fountain's sacred spring, 
 The Chalice let us humbly bring, 
 So shall we find the streams of heaven ; 
 To him who seeks are freely given — 
 The morning and the evening dew 
 Shall still our failing strength renew. 
 
 WARING. 
 
 THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER. 
 
 Oh, lone and languid flower, thou art taken from the glen, 
 In a gay parterre thou bloomest, thou art watch'd by 
 
 careful men — 
 Bright sunbeams smile above thee, fair roses smile 
 
 around — 
 Yet, thou droopest in the garden, it is not thy native 
 
 ground. 
 
 Thus oft are human flowers by officious hands removed 
 From shades of calm seclusion, from scenes and friends 
 
 beloved ; 
 In gilded halls and proud saloons, amid the great they 
 
 roam. 
 Yet they languish in their triumph for their dear and 
 
 early home.
 
 ON MEMORY. 1 9 
 
 From this sad and simple story, a moral we may trace, 
 God gives to man and floweret a safe appointed place ; 
 And the blossoms of the vale and the lowly ones of earth, 
 Ever flourish best and fairest in the sphere that gave 
 them birth. 
 
 MRS. ABDY. 
 
 ON MEMORY. 
 
 [WRITTEN AT AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.] 
 
 No ! this is not the land of memory. 
 It is not the home where she dwells. 
 
 Though her wandering wayward votary 
 Is ever the thrall of her spells. 
 
 Far off" were the fetters woven which bind 
 
 Still closer and closer the Exile's mind. 
 
 Yet this land was the boast of minstrelsy. 
 
 And the song of the Troubadour, 
 Whence Charlemagne led his chivalry 
 
 In the fields which were fought of yore ; 
 Still the eye of Fancy may see them glance, 
 Gilded banner and quivering lance ! 
 
 c 2
 
 20 MEMORY. 
 
 But Memory from Fancy turns away, 
 
 She has wealth of her own to guard ; 
 And whispering's come to her ear which say 
 
 Sweeter things than the song of the bard ; 
 They are solemn and low, and none can hear 
 The whispers which come to Memory's ear ! 
 
 They tell of the dews that brightened the way 
 
 By our earliest footsteps prest ; 
 They tell of the visions, hopeful and gay, 
 
 Which were born and which died in the breast ; 
 They recal the accents which sweetly spake 
 To the soul when the soul was first awake. 
 
 In Memory's land springs never a flower, 
 
 Nor the lowliest daisy blooms ; 
 Ne'er a robin chirps from its russet bower, 
 
 But to call froiu their silent tombs 
 The thoughts and the things which Time's pitiless sway 
 Has long since swept from the world away ! 
 
 In Memory's land waves never a leaf, 
 
 There never a summer breeze blows, 
 But some long smothered thought of joy or grief 
 
 Starts up from its long repose ; 
 And forms are living and visible there. 
 Which vanished long since from our earthy sphere !
 
 THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 21 
 
 I woulil not escape from Memory's land 
 For all that the eye can view, 
 
 For there's dearer dust in Memory's land 
 Than the ore of rich Peru. 
 
 I clasp the fetters by Memory twined, 
 
 The wanderer's heart and soul to bind ! 
 
 HOLFORD. 
 
 THE SENSITIVE PLANT. 
 
 [So delicate in its texture that a touch, a breath, will cause it to 
 tiemble through every leaf, and hence its name of sensitive or humble 
 plant.] 
 
 Nay, little trembler, shrink not thus, 
 
 As though a foe were nigh ; 
 I would not harm thy smallest leaf, 
 
 Then let thy terrors fly. 
 
 Alas ! 'mongst human kind there be 
 
 Hearts sensitive as thou ; 
 Who hear in every tone reproof, 
 
 See frowns on every brow.
 
 22 THE PAKTING SHIP. 
 
 Oh ! may I ne'er such dark distrust 
 
 With needful caution blend, 
 But rather view, till else I've proved 
 
 Each stranger as a friend. 
 
 MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
 THE PARTING SHIP. 
 
 " A glittering ship that hath the plain 
 Of ocean for her own domain." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Go in thy glory o'er the ancient sea. 
 
 Take with thee gentle winds thy sails to swell, 
 
 Sunshine and joy upon thy streamers be — 
 Fare thee well, bark, farewell ! 
 
 Proudly the flashing billow thou hast cleft. 
 
 The breeze yet follows thee with cheer and song ! 
 
 Who now of storms has dream or memory left ? 
 And yet the deep is strong ! 
 
 But go thou triumphing, while still the smiles 
 Of summer tremble on the water's breast ! 
 
 Thou shalt be greeted by a thousand isles, 
 In lone wild beauty drest.
 
 THE PARTING SHIP. 23 
 
 To thee a welcome, breathing o'er the tide 
 The Genii- Groves of Araby shall pour, — 
 
 Waves that unfold the pearl shall bathe thy side 
 On the old Indian shore ! 
 
 Oft shall the shadow of the palm tree lie 
 
 O'er glassy bays, wherein thy sails are furl'd, 
 
 And its leaves whisper, as the wind sweeps by, 
 Tales of the elder world. 
 
 Oft shall the burning stars of southern skies 
 On the mid ocean see thee chained in sleep, 
 
 A lonely home for human thoughts and ties 
 Between the heavens and deep. 
 
 Blue seas that roll on gorgeous coasts renown'd, 
 By night shall sparkle where thy prow makes way, 
 
 Strange creatures of th' abyss that none may sound, 
 In thy broad wake shall play. 
 
 From hills unknown in mingled joy and fear 
 
 Free dusky tribes shall pour thy flag to mark 
 
 Blessings go with thee on thy lone career ! 
 Hail, and farewell thou bark ! 
 
 A long farewell ! thou wilt not bring us back 
 
 All whom thou bearest far from home and hearth^^^- 
 
 Many are thine whose steps no more shaXl track^ 
 Their own sweet native earth !
 
 24 THE HAPPINESS OF THE GODLY. 
 
 Some wilt thou leave beneath the plantain shade, 
 Where through the foliage Indian suns look bright ; 
 
 Some in the snows of wintry regions laid 
 By the cold northern light ! 
 
 And some far down below the sounding wave, 
 
 Still shall they lie though tempests o'er them sweep ; 
 
 Never may flower be strewn above their grave, 
 Never may sister weep ! 
 
 And thou the billowy queen — e'en thy proud form 
 On our glad sight no more perchance may swell ; 
 
 Yet, God alike is in the calm and storm — 
 Fare thee well, bark, farewell ! 
 
 HEMAXS. 
 
 THE HAPPINESS OF THE GODLY. 
 
 [" And he shall 1)6 like a tree planted hy the rivers of water, that 
 bringeth forth his fruit in his season ; his leaf also shall not wither." — 
 Psalm i. 3] 
 
 Blessed state ! and happy he 
 Who is like that planted tree ; 
 Living waters lave his root. 
 Bends his bough with golden fruit.
 
 THE HAPPINESS OF THE GODLY. 25 
 
 Thine, O Lord ! the power and praise 
 Which a sight like this displays ; 
 Power of thine must plant it there, 
 Praise of thee it should declare. 
 
 Thou must first prepare the ground. 
 Sow the seed, and fence it round ; 
 Streams that water, suns that shine, 
 Each and all are ever Thine. 
 
 \Mien the seedling from its bed 
 First lifts up its timid head. 
 Ministry of Thine must give 
 All on which its life can live. 
 
 Showers from Thee must bid it thrive; 
 Breath of thine must oft revive ; 
 Light from Thee its bloom supplies, 
 Left by Thee — it fades, and dies. 
 
 Wliose then — when a tree up-grown 
 Should its fruit be ? but thine own ! 
 And thy glorious heritage 
 Is its fadeless leaf in age. 
 
 E. BARTON.
 
 26 DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, 
 And dashed it out. There was a tint of rose 
 On cheek and lip ; he touched the veins with ice, 
 And the rose faded. — Forth from those blue eyes 
 There spoke a wistful tenderness — a doubt 
 Whether to grieve or sleep, which Innocence 
 Alone can wear. With ruthless hand he bound 
 The silken fringes of their curtaining lids 
 For ever. There had been a murmuring sound, 
 With which the babe would claim its mother's ear, 
 Charming her even to tears. The spoiler set 
 His seal of silence. But there beam'd a smile 
 So fix'd and holy from that marble brow — , 
 Death gazed and left it there ; he dared not steal 
 The signet ring of Heaven. 
 
 L. SIGOURNEY, 
 
 Humility does not consist in telling our faults, but in bearing 
 to be told of them.
 
 THE ALPINE RHODODENDRON. 27 
 
 THE ALPINE RHODODENDRON. 
 
 [Raffles alludes to this beautiful shrub " mingling ils little crimson 
 blossoms with the scanty herbage which clothes the mountains, rising 
 almost perpendicularly from the sides of the glacier on the summit of 
 Montanvert."] 
 
 Gem of the Alps ! 'tis strange to trace 
 
 Aught beautiful as thou, 
 Glad'ning the " solitary place" 
 
 With unexpected glow. 
 Yet, bright one ! cold thy bed must be, 
 And harsh thy evening lullaby ; 
 Would thou wert planted in the bower 
 Which summer weaves for bird and flower ! 
 And rocked to slumber by the gale 
 She breathes in yonder sunny vale ! 
 
 " Oh, tell me not of valley fair, 
 Where sweeter flow'rets bloom, 
 I too have sun and healthful air 
 
 In this mv mountain home ; 
 Yet stranger, doth thy sympathy 
 Demand some poor return from me ; 
 And what if I, frail lowly thing, 
 Such lesson to thine heart might bring. 
 That thou in after hour should'st bless 
 The flow'ret of the wilderness.
 
 28 THE ALPINE KIIODODENDRON. 
 
 Deem'st thou these snows scarce fitting bower 
 
 For aught so fair as I ? 
 O know, that One, whose will is power. 
 
 Has shaped my destiny ; 
 He spake me into being-, — shed 
 His sunshine on my alpine bed. 
 Bade the strong l)last which shook the pino 
 Pass harmless o'er this head of mine, 
 And gently reared my early bloom, 
 'Mid snows which else had been my tomb. 
 
 View in this mountain's frozen breast 
 
 An emblem true of thine, 
 So cold, so hard, till on it rest 
 
 A beam of light divine. 
 Feel'st thou this life-inspiring ray ? 
 If not, then upward look and pray 
 That he who made these mountain-snows 
 A cradle for the opening rose. 
 Would deep within thine heart embower 
 A brighter far than earthly flower. 
 
 MORAL OF FLOWERS.
 
 REGARD DUE TO THE FEELINGS OF OTHERS. '2'J 
 
 REGARD DUE TO THE FEELINGS OF 
 
 OTHERS. 
 
 There is a plant, that in its cell 
 All trembling- seems to stand, 
 
 And bends its stalk and folds its leaves 
 From each approaching hand. 
 
 And thus there is a conscious nerve 
 
 Within the human breast, 
 That from the rash and careless hand 
 
 Sinks and retires distrest. 
 
 The pressure rude, the touch severe, 
 
 Will raise within the mind 
 A nameless thrill, a secret tear, 
 
 A torture undefined. 
 
 Oh, you who are by nature form'd. 
 Each thought refined to know ! 
 
 Repress the word, the glance that wakes 
 That trembling nerve to woe.
 
 30 A mother's love. 
 
 And be it still your joy to raise 
 The trembler from the shade, 
 
 To bind the broken, and to heal 
 The wound you never made. 
 
 WTiene'er you see the feeling mind. 
 Oh, let this care begin ; 
 
 And though the cell be ne'er so low. 
 Respect the guest within. 
 
 L,. HUNTLEY. 
 
 A MOTHER'S LOVE. 
 
 [Translated from the Portugese, by F. IIemans.] 
 
 The brightness of a mother's love 
 
 Can never pass away, 
 It watcheth, like the brooding dove, 
 
 From even-tide till day. 
 It sitteth by the couch of pain 
 
 With quiet placid eye ; 
 'T is free from every dark'ning stain 
 
 Of man's infirmity.
 
 STANZAS. 31 
 
 A mother's love ! oh who may breathe — 
 
 Oh, who may tell its worth ! 
 Its patient suffering until death, 
 
 E'en from our childhood's birth? 
 'T is changeless, fathomless, and deep; 
 
 It is its lot to sigh, 
 To wake, and watch our feverish sleep, 
 
 Wlien none save God is nigh. 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 [Suggested by a drawing of Felix Neffs Alpine Church.] 
 
 Thou dwellest not in temples made 
 
 By human hands alone. 
 Earth is thy footstool, thou hast said, 
 
 And Heaven above thy throne ; 
 Yet grateful is it, Lord ! to see 
 Each house of prayer built up to thee. 
 
 Amid the crowded city's din. 
 Such, when they meet our gaze, 
 
 Inviting all to enter in, 
 
 To offer prayer or praise ; — 
 
 These wheresoever they may be 
 
 Are silent witnesses for thee.
 
 32 STANZAS. 
 
 For mid the toil, and caro, and strife, 
 In whiQli we breathe and live, 
 
 These speak of that more hld<len life 
 Which thou alone canst give ; 
 
 And touch of thought a holier key 
 
 Which bids the spirit turn to thee. 
 
 If such their charms met in the maze 
 Of this world's full career ; 
 
 Are they less vocal to thy praise 
 In scenes to silence dear, 
 
 Where thought is hush'd and feeling free 
 
 In quietness to worship thee ? 
 
 Hence is this humble temple rear'd 
 
 In Alpine solitude. 
 By one who loved thy name and fear'd. 
 
 With eloquence imbued 
 To touch the heart and bend the knee 
 In praise and thankfulness to thee. 
 
 Thv word of gracious promise shews, 
 
 That in a day to come. 
 Deserts shall blossom as the rose, 
 
 And lonely places — dumb. 
 Should shout and sing with joyful glee, 
 Gladden'd and glorified by thee.
 
 THE FREED BIRD. 
 
 Hasten, O Lord, that happy day ! 
 
 And may each house of prayer. 
 Built up thy g-oodness to display. 
 
 Thy blessing richly share ; 
 Till as the waters fill the sea 
 Earth may he full of praise to Thee. 
 
 B. BARTOX. 
 
 XI 
 
 THE FREED BIRD. 
 
 Return, return my Bird ! 
 
 I have dress'd thy cage with flowers, 
 'Tis lovely as a violet bank 
 
 In the heart of forest bowers. 
 
 " I am free, I am free, I return no more I 
 The weary time of the cage is o'er ! 
 Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high, 
 The sky is around me, the blue bright sky ! 
 
 " The hills lie beneath me spread far and clear. 
 With their glowing heath flowers and bounding deer ; 
 I see the waves flash on the sunny shore — 
 Woo me not back, I return no more !" 
 
 D
 
 34 THE FREED BIRP. 
 
 Alas, alas, my Bird ! 
 
 Why seek'st thou to be free ? 
 Wert thou not blest in thy little bower. 
 
 When thy song breathed nought but glee ? 
 
 " Did my song of the summer breathe nought but glee 
 Did the voice of the captive seem sweet to thee ? 
 O ! hadst thou known its deep meaning well, 
 It had tales of a burning heart to tell ! 
 
 " From a dream of the forest that music sprang, 
 Through its note the peal of a torrent rang, 
 And its dying fall, when it soothed thee best, 
 Sigh'd for wild llowers and a leafy nest." 
 
 W^as it with thee tlnis, my Bird ? 
 
 Yet, thine eye flash'd clear and bright ; 
 I have seen the glance of sudden joy 
 
 In its quick and dewy light. 
 
 " It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race — ■ 
 With the soul of the wild wood, my native place ! 
 With the spirit that panted through heaven to soar- 
 Woo me not back — I return no more ! 
 
 " My home is high amid rocking trees. 
 My kindred things are the star and the breeze, 
 And the fount uncheck'd in its lonely play, 
 xVnd odours that wander afar away."
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 35 
 
 Farewell, farewell, then Bird ! 
 
 I have call'd on spirits g"one, 
 And it may be they joyed like thee to part — 
 
 Like thee that wert all my own ! 
 
 " If they were captives and pined like me, 
 Though love may guard them, they joy'd to he free ; 
 They sprang from the earth with a burst of power. 
 To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour. 
 
 " Call them not back when the chain is riven, 
 When the way of the pinion is all through heaven ! 
 Fare^vell ! — With my song through the clouds I soar — 
 I pierce the blue skies — I am earth's no more !" 
 
 HEMANS. 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 The groans of Nature in this nether world, 
 Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. 
 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, 
 Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, 
 The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. 
 Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh 
 FulfiU'd their tardy and disastrous course 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
 
 Of this tempestuous state of human things 
 
 Is merely as the working" of a sea 
 
 Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : 
 
 For lie, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
 
 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
 
 ^\Tien sin hath moved Him, and his wrath is hot, 
 
 Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
 
 Propitious in his chariot paved with love ; 
 
 And what His storms have blasted and defaced 
 
 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 
 
 Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
 Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch : 
 Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
 To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
 But when a poet, or when one like me, 
 Happy to rove among poetic flowers. 
 Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
 On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair. 
 Such is the impulse and the spur he feels 
 To give it praise proportion'd to its worth. 
 That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
 The labour, were a task more arduous still. 
 
 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true. 
 Scenes of accomplish'd bliss ! which who can see. 
 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT XOOX. 37 
 
 His soul refresli'd with foretaste of the joy ? 
 
 Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
 
 And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
 
 Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 
 
 Laug-hs with abundance ; and the land, once lean. 
 
 Or fertile only in its own disgrace, 
 
 Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 
 
 The various seasons woven into one, 
 
 And that one season an eternal spring, 
 
 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
 
 For there is none to covet, — all are full. 
 
 The lion, and the leopard, and the bear, 
 
 Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
 
 Together, or all gambol in the shade 
 
 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
 
 Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
 
 Lurks in the serpent now : the mother sees. 
 
 And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
 
 Stretch 'd forth to dally with the crested M'orm, 
 
 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
 
 The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
 
 All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
 
 One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : 
 
 That creeping pestilence is driven away ; 
 
 The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart 
 
 No passion touches a discordant string,
 
 38 TUE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 But all is harmony and love. Disease 
 Is not : the pure and uncontaminate Wood 
 Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 
 One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
 " Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us !" 
 The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
 Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. 
 Behold the measure of the promise fiU'd ; 
 See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 
 Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 
 All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
 Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
 Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy, 
 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, 
 Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there :* 
 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
 And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
 Praise is in all her gates : upon her walls. 
 And in her streets, and in her spacious courts 
 Is heard salvation. Eastern Java these 
 
 • Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of the 
 Arabs, in the prophetic scripture bore alluded to, may be reasonably 
 considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. — Jut/ior''s A^ole.
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 39 
 
 Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 
 
 And Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, 
 
 And wors]ii])s. Her report has travell'd forth 
 
 Into all lands. From every clime they come 
 
 To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 
 
 O Sion ! an assembly such as earth 
 
 Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. 
 
 Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once 
 Perfect, and all must be at length restored. 
 So God hath greatly purposed. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE 
 
 WHITE. 
 
 Bright be the place of thy soul. 
 
 No lovelier spirit than thine, 
 Ere burst from its mortal control, 
 
 In the orbs of the blessed to shine. 
 On earth thou wert all but divine 
 
 As thy soul shall immortally be, 
 And our sorrow may cease to repine 
 
 When we know that thy God is with thee.
 
 40 THE WORM AND THE FLOWER. 
 
 Light be the turf of thy tomb ! 
 
 May its verdure like emeralds be, 
 There should not be the shadow of gloom 
 
 In aught that reminds us of thee. 
 Young flowers and an evergreen tree 
 
 May spring from the spot of thy rest : 
 But nor cypress or yew let us see ; 
 
 For why should we mourn for the blest ? 
 
 BYRON. 
 
 THE WORM AND THE FLOWER. 
 
 Your spinning for my lady, worm ! 
 
 Silk garments for the fair ; 
 You're spinning rainbows for a form 
 
 More beautiful than air. 
 When air is bright with sunbeams, 
 
 And morning mists arise, 
 From woody vales and mountain streams, 
 
 To blue Autumnal skies.
 
 THE WORM AND THE FLOWER. 41 
 
 You're training' for my lady, flower ! 
 
 You're opening for my love ; 
 The glory of her summer bower, 
 
 Shrill sky larks soar above. 
 Go, twine her locks with rose buds. 
 
 Or breathe upon her breast, 
 While zephyrs cool the water-floods, 
 
 And rock the halcyon's nest. 
 
 But oh, there is another worm 
 
 Ere long will visit her. 
 And revel on her lovely form, 
 
 In the dark sepulchre : 
 Yet from that sepulchre shall springs 
 
 A flower as sweet as this ; 
 Hard by the nightingale shall sing-, 
 
 Soft winds its petals kiss. 
 
 Frail emblems of frail beauty, ye ! 
 
 In beauty who would trusl ? 
 Since all that charms the eye must be 
 
 Consign'd to worms and dust : 
 Yet, like the flower that decks her tomb, 
 
 Her soul shall quit the clod, 
 And shine, in amaranthine bloom, 
 
 Fast by the throne of God. 
 
 J. MONTGOMERY.
 
 42 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 [Written for an Album.] 
 
 Another year hath passed, — and many a dream 
 Of youth, and joy, and gladness hath gone bye ; 
 
 Some that we lov'd have passed from Hfe's gay stream 
 To the dark ocean of eternity. 
 
 When the pasc year was young, with hearts elate, 
 And stirring hopes, they gladly hail'd the spring ; 
 
 Unlearned to read the future page of fate. 
 And buoyant with their wild imagining. 
 
 Now they are gone, and dark oblivion draws 
 O'er fond rememberance her impervious veil, 
 
 Save when a casual sigh escapes for those 
 
 Whose memory we had dreamed could never fail. 
 
 Change we the dirge-like strain, 
 More gaily sweep the strings, 
 
 Welcome the infant year again, 
 With gladness on its wings. 
 
 Oh, smooth the wrinkled brow, 
 
 And wipe the tearful eye ! 
 Nor sigh like mourners now 
 
 For days that have gone bye.
 
 WONDERS AND MURMURS. 43 
 
 Sweet flowers around him flinging-, 
 
 Behold the jocund boy ! 
 Young spring his bright path winging 
 
 To bid us wake to joy. 
 
 Lady my song is o'er, my silent lyre 
 
 Perchance may sound no more at thy desire, 
 
 Yet mayst thou find through life's succeeding hours, 
 
 A rainbow tinted course, a pathway strewn with flowers. 
 
 s. 
 
 WONDERS AND MURMURS. 
 
 Strange that the wind should be left so free, 
 To play with a flower, or tear a tree ; 
 To range or ramble where'er it will. 
 And, as it lists, to be fierce or still ; 
 Above and around to promise life. 
 Then mingle the earth and sky in strife ; 
 Gently to breathe with the morning light. 
 Yet growl like a fetter'd fiend ere night ; 
 Or to love, and cherish, and bless to day, 
 What to-morrow it ruthlessly rends away.
 
 44 WONDERS AND MURMURS. 
 
 Strange that the sun should call into birth 
 All the fairest flowers and fruits of earth, 
 Then view them wither and see them die, 
 While they cheer the soul and gladden the eye ; 
 At morn its child is the pride of Spring, 
 At night, a shrivell'd and loathsome thing ; 
 To-day there is hope and life in its breath, 
 To-morrow it sinks to a useless death ; 
 Strange doth it seem that the sim should joy 
 To give life alone that it may destroy. 
 
 Strange that the ocean should come and go, 
 With its daily and nightly ebb and flow ; 
 Should bear on its placid breast at morn 
 The bark that ere night must be tempest torn ; 
 Or gently cherish it all the way it must roam. 
 Then leave it a wreck within sight of home, 
 To smile as the mariner's toils are o'er. 
 Then wash the dead to the cottage door ; 
 Or gently ripple along the strand, 
 To watch the \\idow behold him land. 
 
 But stranger than all that man should die, 
 When his plans are form'd and his hopes are high ; 
 He walks forth a lord of the earth to-day. 
 And to-morrow beholds him a part of its day.
 
 WONDERS AND MURMURS. 45 
 
 He is horn in sorrow, and cradled in pain, 
 And from youth to age it is labour in vain ; 
 And all that seventy years can show, 
 Is, that wealth is trouble, and wisdom woe ; 
 That he treads a path of care and strife. 
 Who drinks of the poison'd cup of life. 
 
 Alas ! if we murmur at things like these, 
 
 That reflection tells us are wise decrees ; 
 
 That the wind is not ever a gentle breath. 
 
 That the sun is often the bearer of death. 
 
 That the ocean-wave is not always still, 
 
 And that life is chequer'd with good and ill ; 
 
 If we know 'tis well that such change should be, 
 
 What do we learn from the things we see? 
 
 That an erring and sinning child of dust 
 
 Should not wonder nor murmur, but hope and trust. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 How short-lived are tlie best resolutions made in our own- 
 strength, they resemble the early dew which soon passeth away, 
 and the grass upon the house top which withereth before it 
 gioweth up.
 
 46 HOME. 
 
 [The Authoress of the following pieces, Marqaret M. Dairdson, was 
 an American, of strong intellectual powers, which were early matured. 
 The lines on " Home," were written when only nine years of age, and 
 those "To my mother," were composed in the prospect of approaching 
 dissolution. She died of consumption in the 16th year of her age.] 
 
 HOME. 
 
 I wouUl lly from the city, would fly from its care, 
 
 To my own native plants and my flowrets so fair. 
 
 To the cool grassy shade and the rivulet bright, 
 
 Wliich reflects the pale moon in its bosom of light. 
 
 Again would I view the old cottage so dear, 
 
 Where I sported a Ijabe without sorrow or fear ; 
 
 I would leave this great city, so brilliant and gtiy, 
 
 For a peep at my home on this fair summer day. 
 
 I have friends whom I love and would leave with regret, 
 
 But the love of my home, oh ! 'tis tenderer yet. 
 
 There a sister reposes, unconscious in death, 
 
 'Twas there she first drew, and there yielded her breath. 
 
 A father I love is awav from me now, 
 
 Oh ! could I but print a sweet kiss on his brow. 
 
 Or smooth the gray locks to my fond heart so dear, 
 
 How quickly would vanish each trace of a tear. 
 
 Attentive I listen to pleasure's gay call, 
 
 But my own happy home — it is dearer than all.
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 47 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Oh ! mother, would the power were mine 
 
 To wake the strain thou lov'st to hear ; 
 
 And breathe each tremhUng- new-born thought 
 
 "Within thy fondly listening ear, 
 
 As when in days of health and glee, 
 
 My hopes and fancies wandered free. 
 
 But, mother, now a shade hath past 
 Athwart my brightest visions here ; 
 A cloud of darkest gloom hath wrapt 
 The remnant of my brief career ! 
 No song, no echo, can I win. 
 The sparkling fount hath dried within. 
 
 The torch of earthly hope burns dim, 
 And fancy spreads her wings no more ; 
 And oh ! how vain and trivial seem 
 The pleasures that I prized before ; 
 My soul with trembling steps and slow, 
 Is struggling on through doubt and strife ; 
 Oh, may it prove, as time rolls on, 
 The pathway to eternal life ! 
 Then, when my cares and fears are o'er, 
 I'll sing thee, as in " days of yore."
 
 48 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 I said that hope had passed from earth, 
 'T was but to fold her wins^s in heaven, 
 To whisper of the soul's new birth. 
 Of sinners saved and sins forg-iven ; 
 When mine are washed in tears away, 
 Then shall my spirit swell my lay. 
 
 When God shall guide my soul above. 
 By the soft chords of heavenly love — 
 When the vain cares of earth depart, 
 And tuneful voices swell my heart — 
 Then shall each word, each note I raise, 
 Burst forth in pealing- hymns of praise, 
 And all not offered at His shrine, 
 Dear mother, I will place on thine. 
 
 Saratoga Sp7'ings, llwo. 1838. 
 
 The duties tliat are owing to friends are integrity, love, 
 counsel, and assistance. It is not intimacy and frequency of 
 conversation that makes a friend, but a disinterested observance 
 of these duties.
 
 THE USE OF flowehs. 49 
 
 THE USE OF FLOWERS. 
 
 God might have made the earth hring forth 
 
 Enough for great and small, 
 The oak tree and the cedar tree, 
 
 Without a flower at all. 
 
 We might have had enough, enough, 
 
 For every want of ours. 
 For luxury, medicine, and toil. 
 
 And yet have had no flowers. 
 
 The ore within the mountain mine 
 
 Requireth none to grow ; 
 Nor doth it need the lotus-flower 
 
 To make the river flow. 
 
 The clouds might give abundant rain, 
 
 The nightly dews might fall, 
 And the herb that keepeth life in man 
 
 Might yet have drank them all. 
 
 Then, wherefore, wherefore, were they made, 
 
 All dyed with rainbow light, 
 All fashioned with supremest grace, 
 
 Upspringing day and night ?
 
 50 THE SUMMER. 
 
 Springing- in A'alleys green and low, 
 And on the mountains liigli, 
 
 And in the silent wilderness 
 AVhere no man passes by. 
 
 Our outward life requires them not- 
 Then wherefore had they birth ? 
 
 To minister delight to man — 
 To beautify the earth. 
 
 To comfort man — ^to whisper hope, 
 "Whene'er his faith is dim ; 
 
 For Who so careth for the flowers 
 Will much more care for him. 
 
 MARY HO WITT. 
 
 THE SUMMER. 
 
 The summer ! — the summer ! — the exquisite time 
 Of the red rose's blush, and the nightingale's chime ; 
 The chaunt of the lark, and the boom of the bee, — 
 The season of brightness, and beauty, and glee ! 
 It is here — it is here ! It is lighting again. 
 With sun-braided smiles, the deep heart of the glen ; 
 It is touching the mountain, and tinging the hill, 
 And dimpling the face of the low -laughing rill ;
 
 THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN. 51 
 
 It is flooding the forest-trees richly with bloom, 
 And flinging gold showers in the lap of the broom ! 
 I have heard the lark warble his hymn in the sky, 
 I have seen the dew-tear in the meek daisy's eye ; 
 I have scented the breath of the fresh opened flowers, 
 I have plucked a rich garland from hawthorn bowers ; 
 My footsteps have been where the violet sleeps, 
 And where arches of eglantine hang from the steeps ; 
 I have startled the linnet from thickets of shade, 
 And roused the fleet stag as he basked in the glade ; 
 And my spirit is blithe — as a rivulet clear. 
 For the summer, the golden crowned summer, is here I 
 
 HOUSMAN. 
 
 THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN. 
 
 The midges dance aboon the burn, 
 
 The dews begin to fa', 
 The pairtricks down the rushy holm, 
 
 Set up their e'ening ca'. 
 Now loud and clear the blackl)ird's sang. 
 
 Rings through the briery shaw. 
 While flitting, gay, the swallows play 
 
 Around the castle wa'. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN. 
 
 Beneath the golden g-loamin' sky, 
 
 The mavis mends her lay, 
 The redbreast pours his sweetest strains. 
 
 To charm the ling'ring day ; 
 While weary yeldrins seem to wail 
 
 Their little nestlings torn, 
 The merry wren, frae den to den, 
 
 Gaes jinking through the thorn. 
 
 The roses fauld their silken leaves. 
 
 The foxglove shuts its bell. 
 The honeysuckle and the birk 
 
 Spread fragrance through the dell. 
 Let others crowd the giddy court 
 
 Of mirth and revelry. 
 The simple joys that nature yields 
 
 Are dearer far to me. 
 
 TANNAHILI- 
 
 There never did, and never will exist, an\ tLing permanently 
 noble and excellent in a character which is a stranger to the 
 exercise of resolute self denial.
 
 BLOWING BUBBLES. 53 
 
 BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 Half our sorrows, half our troubles, 
 IMaking head and heart to ache, 
 
 Are the fruit of blowing bubbles, 
 Bright to view, but quick to break. 
 
 All have played the child imbecile, 
 Breathing hard to swell the sides 
 
 Of a shining fluid vessel, 
 Frailer than the air it rides. 
 
 From the infant's cradle rising, 
 All t\ie bubble mania show ; 
 
 Oft our richest wealth comprising 
 In the bubbles that we blow. 
 
 Brilliant, buoyant, upward going. 
 
 Pleased we mark them in their flight, 
 
 Every hue of Iris showing. 
 
 As they glance along the light. 
 
 Little castles, high and airy, 
 
 With their crystal walls so thin, 
 
 Each presents the wicked fairy, 
 Vanity enthroned within !
 
 54 BLOWING BUBBLES. 
 
 But, when two have struck together, 
 
 What of either do we find ? 
 Not so much as one gay feather 
 
 Flying hope has left behind ! 
 
 Still, the world are busy blowing 
 
 Every one some empty ball ; 
 So the seeds of mischief sowing 
 
 \\liere to burst the bubl)les fall. 
 
 Nor for self alone to gather. 
 
 Is our evil harvest found ; 
 Oft with pipe and cup we rather 
 
 Step upon our neighbour's ground. 
 
 Thus, amusing one another. 
 
 While the glistening playthings rise. 
 
 We may doom a friend or brother 
 To a life of care and sighs. 
 
 Do you doubt my simple story ? 
 I can point a thousand ways, 
 " Where this bubble-making glory 
 
 Has its darkness hid in rays ! 
 
 Yet, we'll spare a slight confusion, 
 Caused the world by giving names ; 
 
 Since a right to some delusion 
 Every one from nature claims. 
 
 H. F. GOULD.
 
 HYMN TO THE SETTING SUN. 55 
 
 HYMN TO THE SETTING SUN. ^ 
 
 Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 
 Thy course of beneficence done ; 
 As glorious go down to the ocean's warm breast, 
 As when thy bright race was begun. 
 For all thou hast done, 
 Since thy rising, O Sun, 
 Mayst thou by thy Maker be blest. 
 
 Thou hast scattered the night from the broad golden way. 
 
 Thou hast given us thy light through a long happy day. 
 
 Thou hast roused up the birds, thou hast wakened the 
 flowers, 
 
 To chant on thy path, and to perfume the hours. 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 And rise again beautiful, blessing, and blest. 
 
 Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest. 
 
 Yet pause but a moment to shed 
 One warm look of love on the earth's dewy breast. 
 Ere the starred curtain fall round thy bed. 
 And to promise the time, 
 Wlien awaking sublime. 
 Thou shalt rush all refreshed from thy rest.
 
 56 HYMN TO THE SETTING SUN. 
 
 Warm hopes drop like dews from thy life-giving hand, 
 Teaching hearts closed in darkness like flowers to expand ; 
 Dreams wake into joys when first touched by thy light, 
 As glow the dim waves of the sea at thy sight. 
 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest. 
 And rise again beautiful, blessing, and blest. 
 
 Slow, slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest, 
 
 Prolonging the sweet evening hour ; 
 Then robe again soon in the morn's golden vest. 
 To go forth in thy beauty and power. 
 Yet pause on thy way 
 To the full height of day. 
 For thy rising and setting are blest. 
 
 When thou com'st after darkness to gladden our eyes. 
 Or departest in glory, in glory to rise. 
 May hope and may prayer still be woke by thy rays, 
 And thy going be marked with thanksgiving and praise. 
 Then slow, mighty wanderer, sink to thy rest. 
 And rise again beautiful, blessing, and blest. 
 
 G. r. R. JAMES. 
 
 Tale-bearers are enemies to civil society ; wlioever entertains 
 thee with the faults of others, will entertain others with thine.
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 57 
 
 The bird that soars on highest wing, 
 Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 
 
 And she that doth most sweetly sing, 
 
 Sings in the shade when all things rest ; 
 
 In lark and nightingale we see 
 
 What honour hath humility. 
 
 When Mary chose " the better part," 
 
 She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ; 
 And Lydia's gently opened heart 
 
 Was made by God's own temple meet. 
 Fairest and best adorn'd is she 
 Wliose clothing is humility. 
 
 The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown. 
 
 In deepest adoration bends ; 
 The weight of glory bows him down 
 
 Then most when most his soul ascends. 
 Nearest the throne itself must be 
 The footstool of humility. 
 
 J. MONTGOMERY.
 
 58 THE PAUTIXG SriRIT. 
 
 THE PARTING SPIRIT. 
 
 Farewell, thou vase of splendour, 
 I need thy light no more : 
 
 No brilliance dost thou render 
 The world to which I soar. 
 
 Nor sun, nor moonbeam brightens 
 Those regions with a ray, 
 
 But God himself enlightens 
 Their one eternal day. 
 
 Farewell, sweet nature ! waving 
 With fruits and flowrets fair : 
 
 Of these but little craving 
 
 Of what thou well canst spare. 
 
 Only an earthly pillow 
 
 To bear my death-cold head ; 
 And the turf and drooping willow 
 
 To deck my lowly bed. 
 
 The world to which I'm going 
 Has fairer fruit than thine, 
 
 Life's rivers ever flowing, 
 And skies that ever shine.
 
 THE PARTING SPIRIT 59 
 
 Farewell each dearest union 
 
 That bless'd my earthly hours, 
 We vet shall hold communion 
 
 In amaranthine bowers. 
 
 The love that seems forsaken 
 
 When friends in death depart, 
 In heav'n again shall waken, 
 
 And re-possess the heart. 
 
 The harps of heav'n steal o'er me, 
 
 I see the jasper wall — 
 Jesus, who pass'd before me. 
 
 And God the judge of all. 
 
 So sang the parting spirit, 
 
 While round flow'd many a tear — 
 
 Then spread her wings t'inherit 
 Her throne in yonder sphere. 
 
 EDMESTON. 
 
 The imperfections of otliers may teach us patience ; and our 
 own may teach ns humility.
 
 60 THE CONVICT SHIP. 
 
 THE CONVICT SHIP. ^ 
 
 4 
 
 Morn on the waters ! — and purple and bright, 
 
 Bursts on the billo\\s the flushing- of light ; 
 
 O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, 
 
 See the tall vessel goes gallantly on ; 
 
 Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, 
 
 And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale ; 
 
 The winds come around her, in murmur and song. 
 
 And the surges rejoice, as they bear her along. — 
 
 See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, 
 
 And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds : 
 
 Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, 
 
 Over the waters, — away, and away ! 
 
 Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part. 
 
 Passing away, like a dream of the heart ! 
 
 Who as the beautiful pageant sweeps by. 
 
 Music around her, and sunshine on high — 
 
 Pauses to think amid glitter and glow. 
 
 Oh ! there be hearts that are l)reaking below ! 
 
 Night on the waves ! and the moon is on high, 
 Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky, 
 Treading its steps, in the power of her might, 
 And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light !
 
 THE CONVICT SHIP. 61 
 
 Look to the waters ! — asleep on their breast, 
 
 Seems not the ship like an island of rest ? 
 
 Bright and alone on the shadowy main, 
 
 Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate plain I 
 
 Who as she smiles in the silvery light, 
 Spreading- her wings on the bosom of night, 
 Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, 
 A phantom of beauty, could deem, with a sigh. 
 That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin. 
 And souls that are smitten lie bursting within ? 
 Who as he watches her silently gliding. 
 Remembers, that wave after wave is dividing' 
 Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, 
 Hearts which are parted and broken for ever ? 
 Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave, 
 The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's grave ? 
 
 'T is thus with our life : while it passes along-. 
 
 Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song ! 
 
 Gaily we glide, in the gaze of the world. 
 
 With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurl'd ; 
 
 All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes. 
 
 Yet chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs : —
 
 62 INVOCATION. 
 
 Fading- and false is the aspect it wears, 
 
 As the smiles we put on just to cover our tears ; 
 
 And the withering- thoughts which the world cannot know, 
 
 Like heart-broken exiles lie burning below ; 
 
 And the vessel drives on to that desolate shore, 
 
 Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er ! 
 
 T. K. HERVEY. 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Answer me, burning stars of night ! 
 
 Where is the spirit gone, 
 That past the reach of human sight. 
 
 As a swift breeze hath flown ? 
 And the stars answered me — " We roll 
 
 In light and power on high ; 
 But of the never-dying soul. 
 
 Ask that which cannot die." 
 
 Oh ! many-toned and chainless wind ! 
 
 Thou art a wanderer free ; 
 Tell me if thou its place can find, 
 
 Far over mount and sea ?
 
 INVOCATION. 63 
 
 And the wind murmured in reply, 
 
 " The bhie deep I have cross'd, 
 And met its barks and billows liig-h, 
 
 But not what thou hast lost." 
 
 Ye clouds that g-orgeously repose 
 
 Around the setting- sun, 
 Answer ! have ye a home for those 
 
 Wliose earthly race is run ? 
 The bright clouds answered — " We depart, 
 
 We vanish from the sky ; 
 Ask what is deathless in thy heart, 
 
 For that which cannot die." 
 
 Speak then, thou voice of God wilhin, 
 
 Thou of the deep low tone ! 
 Answer me, through life's restless din, 
 
 Where is the spirit fown ? 
 And the voice answered — " Be thou still ! 
 
 Enough to know is given ; 
 Clouds, winds, and stars, their part fulfil. 
 
 Thine is to trust in Heaven." 
 
 F. HEMANS.
 
 64 TO THE MOON. 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 What is it that gives thee, miUl Queen of the night, 
 
 That secret intelligent grace ? 
 O why should I gaze with such tender delight, 
 
 On thy fair but insensible face ? 
 
 Wliat gentle enchantment possesses thy beam, 
 
 Beyond the warm sunshine of day ? 
 Thy bosom is cold as the glittering stream, 
 
 Where dances thy tremulous ray. 
 
 Canst thou the sad heart of its sorrow beguile. 
 Or grief's fond indulgence suspend ? 
 
 Yet, where is the mourner but welcomes thy smile, 
 And loves thee almost as a friend. 
 
 The tear that looks bright in thy beam as it flows, 
 
 Unmoved thou dost ever behold : 
 The sorrow that loves in thy light to repose, 
 
 To thee it has never been told. 
 
 And yet thou dost soothe me, and ever I find. 
 
 While watching thy gentle retreat, 
 A moonlight composure steal over the mind, 
 
 Poetical, pensive, and sweet.
 
 TO THE MOON. 65 
 
 I think of the years that for ever are fled, 
 
 Of follies by others forgot ; 
 Of joys that are vanished, of hopes that are dead, 
 
 Of friendships that were, and are not. 
 
 I think of the future, still gazing- the while, 
 
 As thou couldst those secrets reveal ; 
 But ne'er dost thou grant an encouraging smile, 
 
 To answer the mournful appeal. 
 
 Those beams which so bright through my casement 
 appear, 
 
 To far distant scenes they extend ; 
 Illumine the dwellings of those that are dear — 
 
 And sleep on the grave of my friend. 
 
 Then still I must love thee, mild Queen of the night, 
 
 Since feeling and fancy agree 
 To make thee a source of unfailing delight, 
 
 A friend and a solace to me ! 
 
 J. TAYLOR.
 
 66 VOICE OF A MOMENT. 
 
 VOICE OF A MOMENT. 
 
 Stay thee, tiny child of time ! 
 
 Why shouldst thou so swiftly flee ? 
 Stay and spend thy early prime, 
 
 Wooing- happiness with me. 
 
 " Mortal what hath earth to hring 
 To allure my rapid wing ?" 
 
 See how gaily life is strewn, 
 Pleasant flowers adorn the way, 
 
 From the cottage to the throne 
 Life is all a holiday ! 
 
 " Flowers conceal the pointed thorn — 
 Night o'ertakes the brightest morn." 
 
 Hear the swelling voice of fame, 
 Millions shout the praise of one ! 
 
 Tarry till I earn a name, 
 
 Some immortal deed have done. 
 
 " Fame ! what is it hut a name ? 
 Hast thou not a nobler theme ?"
 
 VOICE or A MOMENT. 67 
 
 Fortune then let me adore, 
 
 Wealth can compass all desire, 
 Swift to heap Potosis ore 
 
 All my eager hopes aspire. 
 
 " Wealth is but a name for care, 
 Toil may win but may not wear." 
 
 Lighter joys will I pursue, 
 
 Buoyant as the air and free. 
 Glide the fields of pleasure through 
 
 In a ceaseless revelry. 
 
 " Deep the pitfall of despair, 
 Let thy reckless step beware !" 
 
 Man, thy moments may not wait. 
 Waste not thou thy best estate ; 
 Folly spreads her path in guile, 
 Lures with false and cunning smile ; 
 Gilds her snares with gorgeous glow, 
 Decks with flowers the path of woe ! 
 
 Wrest thy spirit from the chain, 
 Binding these amid the vain. 
 The inconstant joys of earth — 
 Few and small and nothing worth, — 
 Turn and grasp the fadeless prize 
 Treasured for thee in the skies. 
 
 American *' Friend" 
 
 f2
 
 68 PURITY OF THOUGHT. 
 
 PURITY OF THOUGHT INDISPENSABLE 
 TO DIVINE COMMUNION. 
 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 
 Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure. 
 
 Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause 
 
 For which we shurm'd and hated thee before. 
 
 Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, 
 
 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven 
 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 
 
 A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not 
 
 Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song-, 
 
 A loud hosanna sent from all thy works. 
 
 Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, 
 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise. 
 
 In that blest moment. Nature, throwing wide 
 
 Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 
 The Author of her beauties, who, retired 
 
 Behind His own creation, works unseen 
 
 By the impure, and hears His power denied. 
 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 
 
 Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 
 
 From thee departing they are lost, and rove 
 
 At random, without honour, hope, or peace.
 
 THE FORGET ME NOT. 69 
 
 From thee is all that soothes the life of man, 
 His hig-li endeavour, and his glad success, 
 His strength to suflfer, and his will to serve. 
 But, O thou bounteous Giver of all good. 
 Thou art, of all thy gifts, thyself the crown ! 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 
 
 COWPEK. 
 
 THE FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 In vain I search'd the garden through. 
 
 In vain the meadow gay. 
 For some sweet flower which might to you 
 
 A kindly thought convey. 
 One spake too much of hope and bloom. 
 For those who know of man the doom ; 
 Another, queen of the parterre, 
 Thorns on her graceful stem did bear ; 
 A third, alas ! seem'd all too frail 
 For ruder breath than summer gale.
 
 70 ON FRIEXDSHir. 
 
 I turn'd me thence to where, beneath 
 
 The hedgerow's verdant shade, 
 The lowUest gems of Flora's wreath 
 
 Their modest charms display'd. 
 Lured by its name, one simple flower 
 From its meek sisterhood I bore, 
 And bade it hasten to impart 
 The breathings of a faithful heart, 
 And plead — " Wliate'er your future lot. 
 In weal or woe — Forget me not." 
 
 MORAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
 ON FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Does earth possess a purer flame 
 Than under friendship's hallowed name ? 
 Does earth possess a brighter gem 
 Than what adorns its diadem ? 
 Does earth possess more soothing balm 
 Our wounds to heal, our fears to calm ? 
 The pure, the bright, the soothing, blend 
 To constitute the name of Friend.
 
 ON FRIENDSHIP. 71 
 
 There is a magic in the spell 
 That flows from lips we love so well : 
 We linger o'er the sounds so dear, 
 They fall with softness on the ear. 
 The heart responds with liveliest glee 
 To music of their melody. 
 Our finest, fondest, feelings tend 
 To dignify the name of Friend. 
 
 No selfish passion enters where. 
 The heart is freely bound to share 
 The joy and woe, the good and ill, 
 The sorrows that beset us still ; 
 Sincere in thought, in action kind, 
 Faithful and fond, and firm of mind — 
 United, these a lustre lend 
 Which circles round the name of Friend. 
 
 Distrustful feelings are not known 
 
 Wliere friendship gives the mind its tone — 
 
 Lib'ral and free, confiding all. 
 
 No bond to fetter or enthral : 
 
 Pure as the gem from mountain riven. 
 
 Bright as the sunbeam from our heaven, 
 
 Are thoughts and motives which extend 
 
 Their influence o'er a faithful Friend. '
 
 72 SILENCE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 How dear, yet fleeting, are those ties. 
 Uncertain all beneath the skies ; 
 'Tis wisdom then to seek a stay 
 When all on earth has passed away, 
 T' enjoy the blessings kindly given, 
 As fiowrets on our path to Heaven ; 
 And grateful will our praise ascend 
 To Him, our Father, and our Friend. 
 
 M. 
 
 SILENCE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 [" And vhen he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in 
 Heaven ahout the space of half an hour !" — Rev. viii. 1.] 
 
 Silence in Heaven ! ^\'here angel throngs 
 
 Their hallelujahs raise ; 
 And ransom'd Saints in grateful songs 
 
 Pour forth their joy and praise. 
 
 Silence — where stars, as on they roH'd, 
 
 Made song their glad employ, 
 And Sons of God in days of old 
 
 Were wont to shout for joy.
 
 SILENCE IN HEAVEN. 73 
 
 Silence in Heaven ! where harp and voice, 
 
 In anthems of applause, 
 Might EVERLASTINGLY rejoice, 
 
 And need no silent pause. 
 
 Yet — even there — a pause was known! 
 
 When utterance seem'd to fail ; 
 And silence with its breathless tone, 
 
 Took up the wondrous tale. 
 
 May not the fact a lesson teach 
 
 To us on earth below ? 
 That, more than music, song, or speech, 
 
 Silence his praise may show ! 
 
 Oh ! if thou THUS hast learnt His Will, 
 
 Mayst thou its blessings share ; 
 And find in silent worship, still. 
 
 Thanksgiving, praise, and prayer ! 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 Let usefulness and beneficence, not ostentation and vanity, 
 direct the train of thy pursuits.
 
 74 THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
 
 THE DYING GIRL AND FLOWERS. 
 
 [" I desire, as I look on these, the ornaments and children of earth, 
 to know whcUier, indeed, such things I shall see no more 1 Whether 
 they have no likeness, no archetype iu the world in which my future 
 home is to be cast? Or whether they have their images above, only 
 wrought in a more wondrous and delightful moa\d."—Convcrsalions 
 with a student in ill Jieallh.} 
 
 Bear them not from grassy clells, 
 Where wild bees have honey cells ! 
 Not from where sweet water-sounds 
 Thrill the greenwood to its bounds ; 
 Not to waste their scented breath 
 On the silent room of death ! 
 
 Kindred to the breeze they are, 
 And the glow-worm's emerald star, 
 And the bird whose song is free, 
 And the many whispering tree : 
 Oh ! too deep a love, and vain 
 They would win to earth again. 
 
 Spread them not before the eyes, 
 
 Closing fast on summer skies ! 
 
 Woo thou not the spirit back 
 
 From its lone and viewless track. 
 
 With the bright things which have birth 
 
 Wide o'er all the coloured earth !
 
 THE DYING GIUL AND FLOWERS. 75 
 
 With the violet's breath would rise, 
 Thoughts too sad for her who dies ; 
 From the lily's pearl cup shed, 
 Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed ; 
 Dreams of youth — of spring time eves — 
 Music — beauty — all she leaves ! 
 
 Hush ! 'tis thou that dreaming- art. 
 Calmer is her gentle heart. 
 Yes ! o'er fountain, vale, and grove. 
 Leaf and flower, hath gushed her love ; 
 But that passion, deep and true, 
 Knows not of a last adieu. 
 
 Types of lovelier forms than these. 
 In their fragile mould she sees ; 
 Shadows of yet richer things. 
 Born beside immortal springs. 
 Into fuller glory wrought. 
 Kindled by surpassing thought ! 
 
 Therefore, in the lily's leaf 
 She can read no word of grief ; 
 O'er the woodbine she can dwell. 
 Murmuring not — Farewell ! — Farewell ! 
 And her dim, yet speaking eye, 
 Greets the violet solemnly.
 
 76 
 
 IIYMIV. 
 
 Therefore, once, and yet again, 
 Strew them o'er her bed of pain ; 
 From her chamber take the gloom 
 With a light and flush of bloom : 
 So should one depart, who goes 
 Where no death can touch the rose ! 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 [" Thou makest the out-goings of the morning and the evening to 
 rejoice." — Psalm Ixv. 8.] 
 
 The morning's out-goings, its beauty and splendour. 
 To thy creatures, O God ! should thy witnesses be ; 
 
 And the stillness of evening, more soothingly tender, 
 Should gather our spirits to centre in Thee. 
 
 But the aid of Thy Spirit must livingly teach us, 
 With power and with unction deriv'd from above ; 
 
 Ere the voice which they speak can availingly reach us, 
 Or we can interpret their language of love. 
 
 If the glories of nature alone, could have guided 
 The pilgrims of earth to their mansions on high ; 
 
 The light of the Gospel thou hadst not provided. 
 Nor a Saviour descended for sinners to die.
 
 LINES ON A BABT. 77 
 
 Then pour out Thy Spirit on sons and on daughters ; 
 
 Open eyes to thy beauty, and ears to thy voice ; 
 Till praise to Thy name, like the sound of vast waters, 
 
 May bid them with morning and evening rejoice. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 LINES ON A BABY. 
 
 In stature perfect, and with every gift 
 
 Wliich God could on his favourite work bestow ; 
 Did our great Parent his pure form uplift 
 
 From earth, accomplished Lord of all below. 
 
 But Adam fell before a child was born, 
 
 And want and weakness with his fall began ; 
 
 So his first offspring was a thing forlorn, 
 A human shape without the power of man. 
 
 So Heaven decrees that all of Adam's race 
 Naked and helpless shall the world begin ; 
 
 E'en at their birth confess their need of grace, 
 And shew by tears a penitence for sin. *
 
 78 THE POLISH CHILDREN. 
 
 Yet sure the Babe is in its cradle blest, 
 Since God himself a baby deigned to be ; 
 
 And slept upon a mortal mother's lireast, 
 And dimmed with infant tears his Deity. 
 
 Then sleep my child, since all on earth must sleep, 
 And wake like thee, if we shall wake in Him, 
 
 Who watches still His own from harm to keep. 
 And o'er them spreads the wings of Cherubim. 
 
 H. C. 
 
 THE POLISH CHILDREN. 
 
 [" The last diabolical stroke of Russian policy has been to intoxicate 
 the ch'ldrea of the condemned Poles, in order that they may sing while 
 on their way to the mines." — Extract from a letter.} 
 
 Forth went they from their father-land, 
 
 A fall'n and fettered race ; 
 To find upon a distant strand 
 
 Their dark abiding place. 
 Forth went they — not as freemen go, 
 
 With firm and fearless eye ; 
 But with the bowed-down mien of woe, 
 
 As men go forth to die.
 
 THE POLISH CHILDREN. 79 
 
 The ag-ed in their silver hair, — 
 
 The young- in manhood's might ; — 
 The mother with her infant care, 
 
 The chikl in wikl affright. 
 Forth went they all — a pallid band, 
 
 With many an anguished start ; 
 The chain lay heavy on their hand — 
 
 But heavier on their heart ! 
 
 No sounds disturbed the desert air, 
 
 But those of bitter woe ; 
 Save when at times re-echoed there 
 
 The curses of the foe ; — 
 When, hark ! another cry pealed out, 
 
 A cry of idiot glee ; 
 Answered and heig-htened by the shout 
 
 Of the fierce soldiery. 
 
 T'was childhood's voice — ^but ah ! how wild, 
 
 How demon like its swell — 
 The mother shrieked to hear her child 
 
 Give forth that soul-less yell ! 
 And fathers wrung^ their fettered hands, 
 
 Beneath this maddening- woe ; 
 While shouted out those infant bands 
 
 The chorus of the foe I
 
 80 EARLY DATS. 
 
 And curses deep and low were said, 
 
 Whose murmur reached to heaven ; 
 And sighs were heaved, and tears were shed, 
 
 And woman's heart was riven ; 
 While all forg-etful of their woes 
 
 The children onward trod, 
 And sang- — and their young- voices rose 
 
 A vengeance cry to God ! 
 
 PARDOE. 
 
 * EARLY DAYS. 
 
 Oh ! give me back my early days. 
 The fresh springs and the bright, 
 
 That made the course of childhood's ways 
 A journey of delight. 
 
 Oh ! give me back the violet blue, 
 
 The woodbine and the rose. 
 That o'er my early wanderings threw 
 
 The fragrance of repose. 
 
 And give me back the glittering stream, 
 
 The fountain and the dew. 
 That neither day nor nightly dream 
 
 Can ever more renew.
 
 EARLY DAYS. 81 
 
 I would give all that tears have bought, 
 
 Of wisdom, wealth, or love. 
 For one sweet hour of early thought 
 
 This sordid world above. 
 
 One happy flight, away, away. 
 
 On wings of tameless power ; 
 One golden morn, one glorious day. 
 
 In childhood's rosy bower. 
 
 One sail upon the summer sea. 
 
 Whose passing storms are all 
 Light winds that blow more merrily. 
 
 And dewy showers that fall. 
 
 But ah ! that summer sea no more 
 
 Shall bear me gaily on, 
 My bark lies on the weary shore, 
 
 JMy fluttering sails are gone. 
 
 'Tis not that hope her radiant bow 
 
 No longer bends on high. 
 But light has faded from her brow, 
 
 And splendour from her sky. 
 
 'Tis not that pleasure may not bring- 
 Fresh gladness to my breast, 
 
 But I am worn with wandering 
 To find a home of rest. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 F*
 
 82 HELVELLYN. 
 
 HELVELLYN. 
 
 If silence be the test of feeling, mine 
 
 Is at the full, for all around me breathes 
 
 That which subdues the spirit, and enchains 
 
 The power to give it utterance. I stand 
 
 Upon Helvellyn : from its brow sublime 
 
 Gaze on the wild magnificence below : 
 
 Mountains, — that half the dreary winter through 
 
 Are muffled in the clouds, as though a part 
 
 Of heaven itself, — are lying at my feet. 
 
 Lakes, — studded o'er with islands beautiful, 
 
 Where scarce the pent up winds can find their way 
 
 Over the shaggy cliffs which gird them round, 
 
 Are sleeping tranquilly l)eneath, and seem 
 
 Nature's bright mirrors, framed with rugged tiles. 
 
 Mountains on mountains pil'd are round thee thrown, 
 
 But thou exactest homage from them all : 
 
 The lordly Skiddaw only, seems to share 
 
 Thy empire with thee, and like rival powers 
 
 Ye scowl at sullen distance. On thy brow, 
 
 Stern and erect, the iron hand of Time, 
 
 "Which levels to the dust the loftiest works 
 
 Of petty man, hath left no trace of age :
 
 HELVELLYN. 83 
 
 Strong- in thy majesty thou standest now, 
 As on creation's birth-day, when, at first, 
 Thy giant outline in mid heaven was traced. 
 Methinks it would be fearful here to stand, 
 And list the deep-toned thunder as it rolled 
 From hill to hill, and hear the hollow rocks 
 And mountain wastes, from every side reply ; — 
 To watch the forked lightning, as it danced 
 Above the naked precipice, and then, 
 To creep into some crevice of the rocks, 
 Until the howling winds had spent their rage. 
 And followed in the thunder's track : — but now. 
 Terror gives place to beauty ; not a cloud 
 Veils the fair face of heaven, and all is hushed. 
 Save heard, at intervals, the wild bird's cry, 
 Winnowing his way, and wheeling round and round, 
 As if uncertain where his flight may tend 
 Through these wild solitudes ; or, sweeter still, 
 Borne on the melancholy winds, the sound 
 Of distant waters, which to silence gives 
 A deeper, holier quiet. 
 
 If there be 
 Aught that can chain imagination down 
 To what we see and feel, it must be where 
 Scenes more magnificently beautiful 
 Than ever fancy painted, lie before us. 
 
 F 2
 
 84 THE JJIKD LET LOOSE. 
 
 Far as the eye can gaze, it sees around 
 Lakes, rocks, and mountains, precipices vast, 
 And dizzy steeps o'erhang-ing- steeps, which seem 
 Ready to leave the soHd mass, and rush 
 Impetuous down the chasm that yawns below : 
 But they have looked for ages from these heights, 
 And smiled upon the storm that passed them by. 
 
 A. H. S. 
 
 THE BIRD LET LOOSE. 
 
 The bird let loose from eastern skies 
 When hastening fondly home, 
 
 Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, or flies 
 "Where idler wanderers roam ; 
 
 But high she shoots through air and light. 
 
 Above all low delay. 
 Where nothing earthly bounds her flighty 
 
 Or shadow dims her way. 
 
 So grant me, God, from every stain 
 
 Of sinful passion free. 
 Aloft through virtue's purer air, 
 
 To steer my flight to thee.
 
 TO THE RHINE. 
 
 85 
 
 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
 My soul, as home she springs, 
 
 Thy sunshine on her joyful way, 
 Thv freedom on her win,frs. 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 TO THE RHINE. 
 
 Cologne ! Cologne ! thy walls are won ; 
 Farewell my bark, — be hush'd my song, — 
 My voyage is o'er, — my task is done, — 
 Too pleasant both to last me long. 
 
 Adieu thou noble Rhine, adieu, 
 Thy scenes for ever rich and new. 
 Thy cheerful towns and Gothic piles. 
 Thy rude ravines — thy verdant isles — 
 Thy verdant hills with garlands bound- 
 Thy giant crags, with castles crowned. 
 
 I have seen thee by morning's early light, 
 I have seen thee by evening grey. 
 
 With the crimson flush of sunset bright. 
 And lit by the moon's pale ray.
 
 86 TO THE RHINE. 
 
 Shrouded by mist and darkened by storm, 
 With the countless tints of Autumn warm, 
 In every hue that can o'er thee fall, 
 And lovely — lovely thou art in all. 
 The Rhine — that little word will be 
 For aye a spell of power to me, 
 And conjure up, in care's despite, 
 A thousand visions of delight. 
 
 The Rhine — oh ! where beneath the sun 
 Doth that fair river's rival run ? 
 
 Where dawns the day upon a stream 
 Can in such changeful beauty shine, 
 
 Outstripping fancy's wildest dream. 
 
 Like yon green glancing glorious Rhine ? 
 
 Born where blooms the Alpine rose, 
 
 Cradled in the Baden sea, 
 Forth the infant river flows. 
 
 Leaping on in childish glee. 
 Coming to a riper age, 
 
 He crowns his rocky cup with wine. 
 And makes a gallant pilgrimage 
 
 To many a ruin'd tower and shrine.
 
 THE DARKENED CAGE. 87 
 
 Farewell thou Father Rhine ! as they 
 Who live beside thee fondly say, 
 May thy delicious valley long' 
 Echo the sweet and grateful song 
 Which ever round the goblet rose, 
 And well thy minstrel's lay may close. 
 
 THE DARKENED CAGE. 
 
 He wakens from sleep — that blithesome bird, 
 The leaves are by gentle breezes stirred ; 
 And he longs to look on the streams and bowers 
 That oft have solaced his prisoned hours : 
 But the scene before him is dark and dim, 
 Morn and its glories are not for him, 
 A shroud has veiled from his eager sight 
 The world of verdure, of flowers and light. 
 
 Hark ! a low melody soft and clear. 
 
 Strikes, in his sorrow, his grateful ear. 
 
 Perchance he valued not that lay. 
 
 Had he heard it amid the smiles of day ; 
 
 But now he learns for the sound to wait. 
 
 And he strives the notes to emulate ; 
 
 Daily he masters some mystic tone. 
 
 Till the whole sweet strain becomes his own.
 
 88 THE DARKENED CAGE. 
 
 He sings it in full free notes at last — 
 
 Now has the time of his darkness past, 
 
 The veil is raised — and again he sees 
 
 The dancing waters and blossomed trees ; 
 
 Not in oppression was placed that shade, 
 
 It was meant his toilsome task to aid, 
 
 And that task accomplished — that purpose won, 
 
 His cares are over — his trials done. 
 
 Have we not oft like that drooping- bird, 
 Lessons of truth in our sadness heard, 
 And felt their wisdom, and blessed their worth, 
 Though we prized them not in our days of mirth. 
 To those hidden meanings in grief we turn. 
 Which the worldlina: deems too hard to learn ! 
 And we rise all human themes above. 
 Telling alone of our Saviour's love. 
 
 Like the bird we may not hope to gain 
 
 Immediate ease from our passing pain ; 
 
 That bird is from future joys debarred. 
 
 And earth alone can his toils reward ; 
 
 But though darkness reign o'er our mortal day, 
 
 A scene of light we shall yet survey, 
 
 When the shroud is raised from our longing eyes 
 
 By the hand of God, in the blissful skies. 
 
 MRS. ABDY,
 
 PRAISE AND PRAYER. 89 
 
 PRAISE AND PRAYER. 
 
 Can words alone the first display ? 
 
 Prove we the last by bended knee ? 
 The right to praise, the power to pray, 
 
 Must both be given us Lord by thee. 
 
 Thy Spirit must the heart prepare. 
 And faith in thy dear Son be known, 
 
 Before the voice of praise or prayer 
 Can rise like incense to thy throne. 
 
 Then give the power thy grace imparts, 
 The love by Jesus shewn of yore ; 
 
 That praiseless lives and prayerless hearts, 
 May prove our guilt and shame no more. 
 
 B. BARTOK. 
 
 The desire of being thought wise is often a birderance to 
 becoming so, for such a one is more solicitous to let the world 
 see what knowledge be hath, than to learn that which he wants.
 
 90 THE VALUE OF A MOMENT. 
 
 THE VALUE OF A MOMENT. 
 
 At every motion of our breath, 
 Life trembles on the brink of death ; 
 A tajjer's flame that upward turns, 
 "While downward to the earth it burns. 
 
 A moment usher'd us to birth, 
 Heirs of the commonwealth of earth ; 
 Moment by moment, years are past, 
 And one ere long- will be our last. 
 
 'Twixt that, long- fled, which gave us light, 
 And that which soon must end in night ; 
 There is a point no eye can see, 
 Yet on it hangs eternity. 
 
 This is that moment — who can tell 
 Whether it leads to heaven or hell ? 
 This is that moment — as we choose, 
 Th' immortal soul we save or loose. 
 
 Time past and time to come are not, 
 Time present is our only lot ; 
 O God, henceforth our hearts incline 
 To seek no other love than thine ! 
 
 J. MONTGOMERY.
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 91 
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wincrs breath, 
 
 And stars to set — ^bnt all. 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, Death ! 
 
 Day is for mortal care, 
 Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, 
 
 Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer ; 
 But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 
 
 The banquet hath its hour, 
 Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine ; 
 
 There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, 
 A time for softer tears — ^but all are thine ! 
 
 Youth and the opening rose 
 May look like things too glorious for decay. 
 
 And smile at thee ! — ^but thou art not of those 
 That wait the ripen'd bloom to seize their prey ! 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, 
 
 And stars to set — ^but all, 
 Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O, Death !
 
 92 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 We know \\ hen moons shall wane. 
 When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, 
 
 When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain ; 
 But who shall teach us when to look for thee ? 
 
 Is it when spring's first gale 
 Comes forth to whisjier where the violets lie ? 
 
 Is it when roses in our paths grow pale ? 
 They have one season — uU are ours to die ! 
 
 Thou art \s here billows foam, 
 Thou art where music melts upon the air ; 
 
 Thou art around us in our peaceful home, 
 And the world calls us forth — and thou art there. 
 
 Thou art where friend meets friend, 
 Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest ; 
 
 Thou art where foe meets foe, and trum]jets rend 
 The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. 
 
 Leaves have their time to fall, 
 And flowers to wither at the North- wind's breath. 
 
 And stars to set — but all. 
 Thou has all seasons for thine own, O, Death. 
 
 F. IIEMAXS.
 
 TO AN ABSENT PARTNER. 93 
 
 TO AN ABSENT PARTNER. 
 
 If tliou wert by my side, my love ! 
 
 How fast would evening- fail ; 
 In green Beng-ala's palmy grove, 
 
 Listeninsr the Ni"'litini:ale ! 
 
 D DO 
 
 If thou, my love, wert by my side, 
 
 My babies at my knee, 
 How gaily would our pinnace glide 
 
 O'er Gunga's mimic sea ! 
 
 I miss thee at the dawning- ray, 
 Wlien on our deck reclined ; 
 
 In careless ease my limbs I lay, 
 And woo the cooler wind. 
 
 I miss thee when by Gung-a's stream 
 
 My twilight steps I guide ; 
 But most beneath the moon's pale beam 
 
 I miss thee from my side. 
 
 I spread my books, my pencil try, 
 The lingering noon to cheer. 
 
 But miss thy kind approving eye, 
 Thy meek attentive ear.
 
 94 TO AN ABSENT PAKTNEK. 
 
 But when of morn and eve, the star 
 
 Behokls me on my knee, 
 I feel though thou art distant far, 
 
 Thy prayers ascend for me. 
 
 Then on ! then on ! where duty leads, 
 
 My course be onward still, 
 O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, 
 
 O'er bleak Almorah's hill. 
 
 That course, nor Delhi's kingly gates. 
 
 Nor wild IMalvah detain. 
 For sweet the bliss us both awaits 
 
 On yonder western main ! 
 
 Thy towers Bombay, g-leam bright, they say. 
 
 Across the dark blue sea ; 
 But ne'er were hearts so light and gay, 
 
 As then shall meet in thee. 
 
 HEBEn.
 
 THE MORE CONVENIENT SEASON. 95 
 
 " THE MORE CONVENIENT SEASON." 
 
 Alone he sat and wept — That very nig^ht 
 
 The ambassador of God, with earnest zeal 
 
 Of eloquence, had warned him to repent. 
 
 And like the Roman at Drusilla's side. 
 
 Hearing- the Truth, he trembled, — conscience wrought. 
 
 Yet sin allured. — The struggle shook him sore — 
 
 The dim lamp waned, — the ho\ir of midnight toU'd, 
 
 Prayer sought for entrance, but the heart had closed 
 
 Its diamond valve. He threw him on his couch. 
 
 And bade the spirit of his God depart. 
 
 But their was war within him, and he sig-h'd, 
 " Depart not utterly thou blessed one ; 
 " Return when youth is past, and make my soul 
 " For ever thine." 
 
 With kindling brow he trod 
 The haunts of pleasure — while the viol's voice, 
 And beauty's smile, his joyous pulses woke ; 
 To love he knelt, and on his brow she hung- 
 Her freshest myrtle wreaths. — For gold he sought. 
 And winged wealth indulged him, till the world 
 
 Pronounced him happy Manhood's vigorous prime 
 
 Swelled to its climax, and his busy days 
 And restless nights swept like a tide away ;
 
 96 THE MOBE CONVENIENT SEASON. 
 
 Care struck deep root around him, and each shoot 
 Still striking' earthward like the Indian tree, 
 Shut out with woven shade the eve of Heaven. 
 
 Wlien lo ! a messag'e from the Crucified, 
 " Look unto me and live." — Pausing- he spoke 
 Of weariness and haste and want of time, 
 And duty to his children — and hesought 
 A longer time to do the work of Heaven. 
 
 God spake again — Avhen age had shed its sorrows 
 On his wan temples, and the palsied hand 
 Shrank from gold-gathering. But the rugged chain 
 Of hahit hound him, and he still implored 
 " A more convenient season." — 
 
 " See my step is firm and free, 
 " My unquenched eye delights 
 " To view this pleasant world, and life with me 
 " May last for many years. — In the calm hour 
 " Of lingering sickness I can better fit 
 " For vast Eternity." 
 
 Disease approached. 
 And Reason fled — the maniac strove with death, 
 And grappled like a fiend with shrieks, and cried 
 Till sickness smote his eyeballs, — thick ice
 
 
 LAST RITES. 97 
 
 Closed round his heart-strings — the poor clay 
 Lay vanquished and distorted. — But the soul, 
 The soul, whose promised season never came 
 'To hearken to its maker's call, had gone 
 To weigh its sufferance with its own abuse, 
 And bide the audit. 
 
 LAST RITES. 
 
 By the mighty minster's bell, 
 Tolling with a sullen swell ; 
 By the colours half-mast high, 
 O'er the sea hung mournfully. 
 
 Know a prince hath died. 
 
 By the drum's dull muffled sound ; 
 By the arms that sweep the groiind ; 
 By the volleying muskets' tone, 
 Speak ye of a soldier gone 
 
 In his manhood's pride ? 
 
 By the chaunting psalm that fills 
 Reverently the ancient hills. 
 Learn that from his harvests done, 
 Peasants bear a brother on 
 
 To his last repose. 
 
 G
 
 OS LAST RITES. 
 
 By the pall of snowy white 
 Through the vow trees gleaming bright, 
 By the garlands on the bier ; 
 Weep, a maiden claims thy tear, 
 Broken is the rose. 
 
 Which is tenderest rite of all ? 
 Buried virgin's coronal — 
 Requiem o'er the monarch's head. 
 Farewell gun for warrior dead. — 
 
 Herdsman's funeral hymn ? 
 
 Tells not each of human woe ? 
 
 Each of hope and strength brought low ? 
 
 Number each with holy things, 
 
 If one chast'ning thought it brings, 
 
 Ere life's day grows dim ! 
 
 I.. E. L. 
 
 A life of inaction is a disuse of talents and a perversion of 
 faculties for wliicli we are responsible, it is the inlet of tempta- 
 tion : our leisure days are the enemy's busy ones.
 
 FAKE WELL. 99 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 They say there's mag-ic in the tone 
 Of childhood's artless words ; 
 They say there's music floats along- 
 The lute's enchanting chords ; 
 They say that in the village peal 
 There is a nameless spell ; 
 But none of these have half the power 
 Of that sad word — " Farewell." 
 
 It soothes away each angry thought 
 
 And strife of by-gone years ; 
 
 It is with pensive feelings fraught 
 
 To draw a stoic's tears ; 
 
 It hath a power tongues cannot breathe, 
 
 Which hearts alone can tell, 
 
 In anguish left to feel the force 
 
 Of that sad word — " Farewell." % 
 
 G 2
 
 100 RETIREMENT AND PRAYER. 
 
 RETIREMENT AND PRAYER. 
 
 ["And ho withdrew himself into the wilderness and prayed." 
 Luke V. 16.] 
 
 If thus our Lord himself withdrew, 
 
 SteaUng at times away, 
 E'en from the lov'd, the chosen few, 
 
 In solitude to pray ; 
 How should his followers, frail and weak. 
 Such seasons of retirement seek. 
 
 Seldom amid the strife and din 
 
 Of sublunary things. 
 Can spirits keep their watch within, 
 
 Or plume their heaven-ward wings ; 
 He must dwell deep, indeed, whose heart 
 Can thus fulfil true wisdom's part. 
 
 Bfot in our own spontaneous will 
 
 Can we the world shut out, — 
 Say to our passions, " Peace, be still !" 
 
 Or check each rising doubt ; 
 Alone, by prayer, 'tis slowly won. 
 In the world's throng too rarely done.
 
 HAD ALL AH. 101 
 
 How needful is it, then, for man 
 
 From things of time to steal ; 
 Those of eternity to scan, 
 
 Their magnitude to feel : — 
 The first are transitory, vain ; 
 The last for ever will remain. 
 
 Retirement must adjust the beam. 
 And prayer must poise the scales ; 
 
 Our Guide, Example, Head supreme. 
 In neither lesson fails ; 
 
 Oh may we in remembrance bear. 
 
 He sought retirement, — practis'd prayer ! 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 HADALLAH AT THE FOUNTAIN OF 
 THE DESERT. 
 
 Spirit of the lonely fountain ! 
 
 Hear an Arab maiden sing* ; 
 Spirit of the lonely fountain ! 
 
 Take a maiden's offering-.
 
 102 HADALLAH. 
 
 O'er tho desert waste and dreary, 
 Many a day we've journeyed on, 
 
 Parched with heat, and faint, and weary, 
 All our store of water gone. 
 
 Welcome, then, thy crystal treasure ! 
 
 Not more sweet the sparkling; draught 
 In the Prophet's bovvers of pleasure, 
 
 By his faithful followers quaffed. 
 
 Though they say, no soul immortal 
 Allah hath to woman given, 
 
 And for her the golden portal 
 Is for ever closed in heaven, — 
 
 Yet I feel within me burning. 
 
 Thoughts which are not of the earth ; 
 
 Breathings all divine, returning 
 
 To the home that gave them birth. 
 
 Surely never hopes so holy 
 
 Can, like earth-born raptures, die ! 
 
 No ; — Heaven blesses e'en the lowly 
 Slighted maid of Araljy. 
 
 In the blissful groves of Yemen, 
 Once the fragrant tears I caught, 
 
 From the fair mimosa streaming, — 
 Tears of myrrh with incense fraught.
 
 IIADALLAII. 103 
 
 Then to show a thankful spirit, 
 
 For the gracious care of Heaven, 
 Who, without its creature's merit. 
 
 Life and strength through thee has given. 
 
 Here I bring my tribute, only 
 
 Scanty store of fragrant myrrh, 
 All the treasure of the lonely 
 
 Desert's homeless wanderer. 
 
 Minister of bounteous Allah ! 
 
 Thou, like Him, still bounteous be ; 
 Shed thy blessings on Hadallah, 
 
 Worthless though her gifts to thee. 
 
 Spirit of the lonely fountain ! 
 
 Mean though all the gift I bring. 
 Gentle Spirit of the fountain. 
 
 Take, O take mine offering ! 
 
 In private we have our tliouglits to watch, in the family oiir 
 tempers, and in company our tongues.
 
 104 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 "PASSING AWAY." 
 
 I ask'd the stars in the pomp of night, 
 Gilding' its blackness with crowns of light, 
 Bright with beauty and girt with power, 
 Whether eternity were not their dower ? 
 
 And dirge-like music stole from their spheres, 
 Bearing this message to mortal ears. 
 
 We have no light that hath not been given, 
 We have no strength but shall soon be riven, 
 We have no power wherein man may trust. 
 Like Mm we are things of time and dust ; 
 
 And the legend we blazon with beam and ray. 
 And the song of our silence is " passing away." 
 
 We shall fade in our beauty, the fair and bright. 
 Like lamjis that have served for a festal night ; 
 We shall fall from our spheres the old and strong, 
 Like rose-leaves swept by the breeze along ; 
 
 Though worship'd as gods in the olden day. 
 We shall be like a vain dream, " passing away.
 
 ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL. 105 
 
 From the stars of heaven to the flowers of earth. 
 From the pageant of power and the voice of mirth, 
 From the mists of man on the mountain's hrow, 
 From childhood's song and affection's vow ; 
 
 From all, save that o'er which soul bears sway, 
 Breathes but one record " passing away." 
 
 " Passing away," sing the breeze and rill. 
 As they sweep on their course by vale and hill ! 
 Through the varying scenes of each earthly clime, 
 'Tis the lesson of nature, the voice of time ; 
 And man at last, like his fathers grey, 
 Writes in his own dust, " passing away." 
 
 ^ ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL. 
 
 Shades of evening ! close not o'er us ! 
 
 Leave our lonely bark awhile ! 
 Morn, alas ! will not restore us 
 
 Yonder dim and distant isle. 
 Still my fancy can discover 
 
 Sunny spots where friends may dwell ; — 
 Darker shadows round us hover — 
 
 Isle of Beauty ! Fare thee well.
 
 lOG ISLE OF BEAUTY, FARE THEE WELL. 
 
 'Tis the hour when happy faces 
 
 Smile around the taper's Hg-ht ; — 
 Who will fill our vacant places ? 
 
 Who will sing our songs to-night ? 
 Through the mist that floats above us, 
 
 Faintly sounds the vesper bell, 
 Like a voice from those who love us, 
 
 Breathing- fondly, " Fare thee well !" 
 
 Wlien the waves are round me breaking, 
 
 As I pace the deck alone, 
 And my eye in vain is seeking 
 
 Some green leaf to rest upon, — 
 What would I not give to wander 
 
 Where my old companions dwell ? 
 Absence makes the heart grow fonder ; — 
 
 Isle of Beauty ! Fare thee well ! 
 
 BAYLEY. 
 
 Beauty and wit will die, learning will vanish away, and all 
 the arts of life be soon forgotten ; but virtue will remain for 
 ever.
 
 THE BETTER 1,AND. 107 
 
 THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 I HEAR thee speak of the better land ; 
 Thou calls't its children a happy band ; 
 Mother ! Oh where is that radiant shore ? 
 Shall we not seek it and weep no more ? 
 Is it where the flower of the orange blows, 
 And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs ? 
 " Not there, not there, my child ! " 
 
 Is it where the feathering palm-trees rise. 
 And the date grows ripe under sunny skies, 
 Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, 
 Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze. 
 And strange bright birds, on their starry wings, 
 Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ? 
 
 " Not there, not there, my child I" 
 
 Is it far away in some region old. 
 
 Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold — • 
 
 Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, 
 
 And the diamond lights up the secret mine. 
 
 And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand — 
 
 Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? 
 
 " Not there, not there, my child ! "
 
 108 THE GREEK GIRL's SONG. 
 
 Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! 
 Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy, 
 Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, 
 Sorrow and death may not enter there ; 
 Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ; 
 For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, 
 
 " It is there, it is there, my child ! " 
 
 F. HEMANS. 
 
 THE GREEK GIRL'S SONG. 
 
 Sung by a youag Athenian as she glided by the Asian shore in a caique. 
 
 My own bright Greece ! My sunny land ! 
 
 Nurse of the brave and free ! 
 How bound the cords beneath mv hands 
 
 Whene'er I sing of thee. 
 The myrtle branches wave above my brow, 
 And glorious memories throng around me now ! 
 
 Thy very name was once a spell — 
 
 A watchword on the earth — 
 With thee the arts first deigned to dwell. 
 
 And o'er thy gentle earth 
 The social spirit spread her gleaming wings. 
 And made it the glad home of pure and lovely things.
 
 THE GREEK GIRL's SOXG. 109 
 
 The snowy marble sprang- to life 
 
 'Neath thy Promethian touch ; 
 The breeze with sunny song was rife : 
 
 (Where now awakens such ?) 
 All that was brightest, best, with thee was found, 
 And thy sons trod in pride thy classic ground. 
 
 The burning' eloquence which dips 
 
 Its torch in living' fire, 
 Flowed like a lava-tide, from lips 
 
 That, from the funeral pyre 
 Of by-past ages plucked a burning brand. 
 To shed new light o'er thee, thou bright and glorious 
 land! 
 
 They tell me thou art nothing now — 
 
 I spurn the unholy thought ! 
 The beam is yet upon thy brow 
 
 Which erst from heaven it caught. 
 Let then the baneful blighting mockery cease ! 
 Still art thou beautiful, my own fair Greece ! 
 
 Firm hearts and glowing souls remain, 
 
 To love thee, glorious one ! 
 And though no hand may clasp again 
 
 Thy once celestial zone, 
 Better to worship at thy ruined shrine, 
 Than bend the knee to one less proud and pure than 
 thine. pardoe.
 
 110 THE TWIN SISTERS. 
 
 THE TWIN SISTERS. 
 
 My sister, I sit in the chesnut tree's shade, 
 Where often in childhood we frolicked and played ; 
 But my spirit is heavy, and burdened with gloom, 
 I look through my tears at thy close-curtain'd room. 
 The sounds of dark meaning yet ring in my ear, 
 " Thy sister is drooping, her summons is near ;" 
 Yes,, death, that the strong and the mighty o'erpowers. 
 Can even dissever a union like ours. 
 
 Our lot was not common, our ties were above 
 The usual connection of sisterly love ; 
 Together we entered this region of care. 
 Together we lisped our first infantine prayer ; 
 As childhood advanced, in each study and aim. 
 Our hopes, our pursuits, our delights were the same ; 
 And the thought of the one, although yet unexprest. 
 Oft found a reply in the other's fond breast. 
 
 No absence was suffered a chillness to bring 
 
 O'er the radiance and joy of our girlhood's fresh spring ; 
 
 No rival emotions, no jealousies vain, 
 
 Our fervent affection e'er came to profane ; 
 
 In person the stranger scarce knew us apart. 
 
 But the stranger could trace not our likeness of heart ; 
 
 None, none but ourselves the sweet fulness divined 
 
 Of our perfect communion of temper and mind.
 
 THE TWIN SISTERS. 1 1 I 
 
 Oh ! how when my sister is summoned away, 
 Shall I pass the slow hours of the long dreaded day ? 
 The songs we had sung will seem tuneless to me, 
 My walks will be sad, unpartaken by thee ; 
 I shall miss thy kind smile when my pillow I leave, 
 I shall miss thy soft voice in the silence of eve ; 
 Our parents their child may in patience resign, 
 Their trial is surely less bitter than mine. 
 
 Yet let me not thus the Almighty arraign, 
 
 Who graciously gives me a balm for my pain ; 
 
 I feel when our many dear ties I recall. 
 
 That the service of God was the dearest of all : 
 
 Our way to his house on the Sabljath we took. 
 
 Together we studied the truth of his book ; 
 
 And we owned when the paths of proud science we trod. 
 
 That all knowledge was poor to the knowledge of God. 
 
 Thy faith in thy last waning moments is shown, 
 
 Nor dost thou, my sister, enjoy it alone ; 
 
 Thy tender companion from life's early breath, 
 
 May be not, alas, thy companion in death ; 
 
 But her spirit with thine shall still fondly unite. 
 
 And the glories of heaven shall oft break on her sight ; 
 
 When her thoughts from earth's perils and sorrows arise 
 
 To her dear twin-born sister who lives in the skies. 
 
 MRS. ABDY.
 
 112 PRAYER. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 Go when the morning shineth, 
 
 Go when the noon is bright, 
 Go when the eve declineth, 
 
 Go in the hush of night ; 
 Go with pure mind and feehng, 
 
 Fhng earthly thoughts away, 
 And in thy chamber kneeUng, 
 
 Do thou in secret pray. 
 
 Remember all who love thee. 
 
 All who are loved by thee ; 
 Pray, too, for those who hate thee. 
 
 If any such there be ; 
 Then for thyself in meekness, 
 
 A blessing humbly claim. 
 And link with each petition 
 
 Thy great Redeemer's name. 
 
 Or, if 'tis e'er denied thee. 
 
 In solitude to pray. 
 Should holy thoughts come o'er thee. 
 
 When friends are round thy way ;
 
 THOUR'T GANE AWA, MARY. 113 
 
 E'en then the silent breathing- 
 
 Of thy spirit raised above, 
 Will reach His throne of glory 
 
 Who is mercy, truth, and love. 
 
 Oh, not a joy or blessing 
 
 Can we with His compare ; 
 The power that he has given us 
 
 To pour our souls in prayer ; 
 Whene'er thou pin'st in sadness, 
 
 Before his footstool fall, 
 And remember in thy gladness, 
 
 His grace who gave thee all. 
 
 F. HEMANS/, 
 
 "THOU'RT GANE AWA, MARY. 
 
 Thou'rt gane awa, thou'rt gane awa, 
 Thou'rt gane awa from me, Mary ! 
 
 No hand thy upward flight could stay, 
 Or bind thy spirit free, Mary ! 
 
 I thought thee faithful, kind, and true. 
 From pride and falsehood free, Mary ; 
 
 But till this hour I never knew 
 How dear thou wast to me, Mary.
 
 1 1 4 THOU'rT GANE away, MARY. 
 
 In this sad world, with gloom replete. 
 Once lighted by thy smile, Mary ! 
 
 A moment might thy presence sweet, 
 My \\eary way beguile, Mary. 
 
 I'd ask thee in that hour of woe, 
 That sealed my fate severe, Mary ; 
 
 Wliat comfort could thy spirit know. 
 What hope forbade thy fear, Mary ? 
 
 Oh, say what potent spell was thine. 
 That could the foe disarm, Mary ; 
 
 And tell me whence the joy divine, 
 That gave e'en death a charm, Mary ? 
 
 A spotless life, a guileless mind, 
 
 Thou said'st were not thy claim, Mary ; 
 
 But ere thy lips their life resigned 
 
 They breathed a Saviour's name, Mary ! 
 
 Oh, that some ray of life would shine 
 On my bewildered mind, Mary ; 
 
 Oh, that some feeble hope were mine. 
 The path of bliss to find, Mary ! 
 
 My willing feet the way would climb. 
 Thy glorious flight to trace, Mary ; 
 
 And leave the fading scenes of time 
 For Heaven, thy resting place, Mary ! 
 
 MOTHERWELLr
 
 TWILIGHT. 115 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 I LOVE thee, Twilight ; as thy shadows roll, 
 The calm of evening- steals upon my soul. 
 Sublimely tender, solemnly serene, 
 Still as the hour, enchanting as the scene. 
 I love thee. Twilight ! for thy gleams impart 
 Their dear, their dying influence to my heart. 
 When o'er the harp of thought thy passing wind 
 Awakens all the music of the mind, 
 And joy and sorrow, as the spirit burns, 
 And hope and memory sweep the chords by turns ; 
 While contemplation, on seraphic wings, 
 Mounts with the flame of sacrifice, and sings. 
 Twilight ! I love thee ; let thy glooms increase 
 Till every feeling, every pulse is peace ; 
 Slow from the sky the light of day declines, 
 Clearer within the dawn of glory shines, 
 Revealing in the hour of Nature's rest, 
 A world of wonders in the poet's breast : 
 Deeper, O Twilight ! then thy shadows roll, 
 An awful vision open on my soul. 
 
 j. montgomery. 
 h2
 
 116 jtature's farewell. 
 
 NATURE'S FAREWELL. 
 
 [" The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not." — Coleridge's Trans- 
 lation of Schiller's IVallenstein.'] 
 
 A youth rode forth from his childhood's home, 
 Thro' the crowded paths of the world to roam, 
 And the green leaves whisper'd as he pass'd, 
 Wlierefore, thou dreamer, away so fast ? 
 
 " Know'st thou with what thou art parting' here, 
 Long wouldst thou linger in doubt and fear ; 
 Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, 
 Thou hast left in our shades, with the spring's wild 
 flowers. 
 
 " Under the arch by our mingling made, 
 Thou and thy brother have gaily play'd ; 
 Ye may meet again where ye rov'd of yore, 
 But as ye have met there, oh ! never more." 
 
 On rode the youth, and the boughs among. 
 Thus the free birds o'er his pathway sung : 
 " Wherefore so fast unto Hfe away ? 
 Thou art leaving for ever thy joy in our lay !" 
 
 " Thou mayst come to the summer woods again. 
 And thy heart have no echo to greet their strain ; 
 Afar from the foHage its love will dwell, 
 A change must pass o'er thee — farewell, farewell."
 
 nature's farewell. 117 
 
 On rode the youth, and the founts and streams 
 Thus mingled a voice with his joyous dreams : 
 " We have been thy playmates thro' many a day, 
 Wherefore thus leave us ? oh ! yet delay. 
 
 " Listen but once to the sound of his mirth ! 
 For thee, 'tis a melody passing from earth ; 
 Never again wilt thou find in its flow 
 The peace it could on thy heart bestow. 
 
 " Thou wilt visit the scenes of thy childhood's glee. 
 With the breath of the world on thy spirit free ; 
 Passion and sorrow its depths will have stirr'd, 
 And the singing of waters be vainly heard. 
 
 " Thou wilt bear in our gladsome laugh no part — 
 What should it do for a burning heart ? 
 Thou wilt bring to the banks of our freshest rill, 
 Thirst which no fountain on earth may still. 
 
 " Farewell ! when thou comest again to thine own. 
 Thou wilt miss from our music its loveliest tone ; 
 Mournfully true is the tale we tell — 
 Yet on, fiery dreamer — farewell ! — farewell ! " 
 
 And a something of grief on his spirit weigh'd, 
 As he caught the last sounds of his native shade ; 
 But he knew not, till many a bright spell broke, 
 How deep were the oracles nature spoke ! 
 
 F. HEMANS.
 
 118 CONGENIAL SPIRITS. 
 
 CONGENIAL SPIRITS. 
 
 Oh ! in the varied scenes of life, 
 
 Is there a joy so sweet, 
 As when amid its l)usy strife, 
 
 Congenial spirits meet ? 
 Feeling- and thought, a faery band 
 
 Long hid from mortal sight, 
 Then start to meet the master hand 
 
 That calls them forth to light. 
 
 When turning o'er some gifted page. 
 
 How fondly do we pause. 
 That dear companion to engage 
 
 In answering applause ; 
 And when we list to music's sighs, 
 
 How sweet at every tone, 
 To read within another's eyes, 
 
 The raptures of our own ! 
 
 To share together waking dreams, 
 
 Apart from sordid men, 
 Or speak on high and holy themes. 
 
 Beyond the worldling's ken ; 
 These are most dear, but soon shall pass 
 
 That summons of the heart. 
 Congenial spirits, soon, alas ! 
 
 Are ever doomed to part.
 
 THE SPIRIT AND THE BRIDE. 1 19 
 
 Yet thou to whom such grief is given, 
 
 Mourn not thy lot of woe ; 
 Say, can a wandering light from heaven 
 
 E'er sparkle long below ? 
 Earth would be all too bright, too blest, 
 
 For such pure ties of love ; 
 Let kindred spirits hope no rest. 
 
 Save in a rest above. 
 
 MRS. ABDY. 
 
 THE SPIRIT AND THE BRIDE. 
 
 ["And the Spirit and the Bride say, Come. And let him that hear- 
 eth say, Come. And let him that is athirst. Come. And whosoever 
 will, let him talie the water of life freely." — Rev. xxii. 17.] 
 
 Oh, wherefore delay and reluctantly roam ? 
 The voice of the Spirit invites you to come ; 
 Wliy hunger and thirst in the regions of woe ? 
 The Lamb living waters will freely bestow. 
 
 Come, come ; the Spirit says, come. 
 Let him that has heard bid his brethren to come.
 
 120 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Tlie river is boundless, and deep is the tide ; 
 Oh ! turn ye and come at the voice of the Bride ; 
 Tho' your sins be as crimson, the waters that flow- 
 Will render you spotless, and whiter than snow. 
 Come, come; the Bride says, come. 
 Ye thirsting and willing, rejoicingly come. 
 
 Oh ! quench not the Spirit that worketh within, 
 Nor add by delay to the weight of your sin ; 
 This pool is the porch of your heavenly home ; 
 The voice of your Father invites you to come. 
 
 Come, come ; the Church says, come- 
 Rejoice in the promise, and cheerfully come. 
 
 LENA, 
 
 -' THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 The stately homes of England, 
 
 How beautiful they stand ! 
 Amidst their tall ancestral trees. 
 
 O'er all the pleasant land ! 
 The deer across their greenwoods bound, 
 
 Through shade and sunny gleam, 
 And the swan glides past them with the sound 
 
 Of some rejoicing stream.
 
 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 121 
 
 The merry homes of England ! 
 
 Around their hearths by night, 
 What gladsome looks of household love 
 
 Met in the ruddy light ! 
 There woman's voice flows forth in song, 
 
 Or childhood's tale is told, 
 Or lips move tunefully along 
 
 Some glorious page of old. 
 
 The cottage homes of England ! 
 
 By thousands on her plains. 
 They're smiling o'er the silvery brook, 
 
 And round the hamlet-fanes ; 
 Through glowing orchards forth they peep, 
 
 Each from its nook of leaves ; 
 And fearless there the lowly sleep 
 
 As birds beneath their eaves. 
 
 The free fair homes of England ! 
 
 Long, long, in hut and hall 
 May hearts of native proof be reared 
 
 To guard each hallowed wall ; 
 And green for ever be the groves. 
 
 And bright the flowery sod, 
 Where first the child's glad spirit loves 
 
 Its country and its God. 
 
 F. HEMANS.
 
 122 SIGNS AND TOKENS. 
 
 SIGNS AND TOKENS. 
 
 ["lie that observeth the wind shall not sow, and he that regardeth 
 the clouds shall not reap." — EcclesiaUes xi, 4.] 
 
 Christian pilgrim, seeking still 
 Zion's high and holy hill, 
 May the Lord to thee impart, 
 Single eye and stedfast heart. 
 
 Place thy trust in grace divine, 
 Heed not thou each changing sign ; 
 Shouldst thou witness many a change. 
 Count not these as tokens strange. 
 
 o^ 
 
 Winds may rise of fearful sound. 
 Darkest clouds may gather round ; 
 These may usher cloudless day, 
 Those but waft thee on thy way. 
 
 He who watcheth clouds that blow. 
 May too long neglect to sow ; 
 He who waits lest clouds should rain. 
 Harvest never may obtain. 
 
 Signs and tokens false may prove, — 
 Trust thou in a Saviour's love, 
 In his sacrifice for sin, 
 And his Spirit's power within.
 
 THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. 123 
 
 Keep thou Zion-ward thy face, 
 
 Ask in faith the aid of grace, 
 
 Use the strength which grace shall give, 
 
 Die to self — in Christ to live. 
 
 Faith in God, if such be thine. 
 Shall be found thy safest sign. 
 And obedience to His will, 
 Prove the best of tokens still. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. 
 
 [" Messages from the living to the dead are not uncommon in the 
 Highlands. The Gaels have such a ceaseless consciousness of immortal- 
 ity, that their departed friends are considered as merely absent for a 
 time, and permitted to relieve the hours of separation by occasional 
 intercourse with the object of their earliest affection."] 
 
 Thou'rt passing hence, my Brother ! 
 
 Oh, my earliest friend, farewell ; 
 Thou'rt leaving me without thy voice 
 
 In a lone home to dwell ; 
 And from the hill and from the hearth, 
 
 And from the household tree. 
 With thee departs the lingering mirth. 
 
 The brightness goes with thee.
 
 124 THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAB. 
 
 But thou, my friend, my brother, 
 Thou'rt speeding to the shore. 
 
 Where the dirge — like tones of parting words- 
 Shall smite the soul no more ! 
 
 And thou wilt see our holy dead, 
 The lost on earth or main; 
 
 Into the sheaf of kindred hearts 
 Thou wilt be bound again. 
 
 Tell then our friend of boyhood, 
 
 That yet his name is heard 
 On the blue mountains, whence his youth 
 
 Passed like a swift, bright bird. 
 The light of his exulting brow, 
 
 The vision of his glee, 
 Are on me still — Oh still I trust 
 
 That smile again to see. 
 
 And tell our fair young sister, 
 
 The rose cut down in spring, 
 That yet my gushing soul is filled 
 
 With lays she loved to sing ; 
 Her soft deep eyes look through my dreams 
 
 Tender and sadly sweet ; — 
 Tell her my heart within me burns 
 
 Once n)ort> that gaze to meet !
 
 THE MESSAGE TO THE DEAD. 125 
 
 And tell our white liair'd father, 
 
 That in the paths he trod, 
 The child he loved, the last on earth, 
 
 Yet walks and worships God ; 
 Sav that his last fond blessing yet 
 
 Rests on my soul like dew, 
 And by its hallowing- might I trust 
 
 Once more his face to view. 
 
 And tell our gentle mother, 
 
 That on her grave I pour 
 The sorrows of my spirit forth, 
 
 As on her breast of yore. 
 Happy art thou, that soon, how soon, 
 
 Our good and bright will see — 
 Oh, brother, brother ! may I dwell 
 
 Ere long with them and thee. 
 
 F. HEMA^'S. 
 
 The less notice we take of tlie unkindiiess and injuries done to 
 us, the more we consult the quiet of our own minds.
 
 126 THE NORTH COUNTRIE. 
 
 "THE NORTH COUNTRIE." 
 
 " Oh, the oak and the ash, and the bonny ivy tree, 
 They flourish best at hame in the North Countrie." 
 
 Lov'sT thou those plains of sunny glow, 
 
 Where roses linger, where myrtles blow ? 
 
 Would'st thou slumber thy noon-tide in orange bowers' 
 
 'Mid the rainbow bloom of ten thousand flowers ; 
 
 Where glancing rivers, still and deep, 
 
 Make summer music to lull thy sleep ? 
 
 Wliere all things fair and fragrant be ? 
 
 Go, seek them in laughing Italic. 
 
 But if Nature bind thee with mightier spell, 
 
 In her rugged empire of " flood and fell ;" 
 
 If thy spirit answer in prouder tone. 
 
 When it strives with the giant hills alone ; 
 
 If the torrents which down the mountains quiver, 
 
 Can move thee more than the sun-lit river ; 
 
 Then roam the earth from sea to sea, 
 
 But stay thy step in the " North Countrie." 
 
 Wouldst thou dwell where a heaven of changeless hue 
 Bends its fair arch of radiant blue ; 
 Burning by day with golden light, 
 And lit with its myriad lamps by night ?
 
 THE IVY. 127 
 
 Where the languid air,' through the branches sighing, 
 
 Murmurs a soft farewell in dying ? 
 
 Go bare thy brow to the zephyrs bland 
 
 Wliich fan the flowers in the sweet south land. 
 
 But lovest thou better to mark on high 
 
 The spirit shapes in a stormy sky ? 
 
 Dost thou thrill with a rapture undefined 
 
 To the roaring song of the mountain wind ? 
 
 Has the rushing tempest a mighty voice, 
 
 To bid thine inmost heart rejoice ? 
 
 Then sweep the air with the wild birds free, 
 
 But fold thy wing o'er the North Countrie. 
 
 Q. Q- 
 
 THE IVY. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 
 
 Dost thou not love, in the season of spring, 
 To twine thee a flowery wreath, 
 
 And to see the beautiful birch-tree fling 
 Its shade on the grass beneath ? 
 
 Its glossy leaf, and its silvery stem, 
 
 Oh, dost thou not love to look on them "i
 
 128 THE IVT. 
 
 And dost thou not love, when leaves are greenest, 
 
 And summer has just hegun, 
 When in the silence of moonlight thou leanest, 
 
 Where glist'ning waters run ; 
 To see, hy that gentle and peaceful beam. 
 The willow bend down to the sparkling stream ? 
 
 And, oh ! in a lovely autumnal day, 
 When leaves are changing before thee. 
 
 Do not nature's charms, as they slowly decay, 
 Shed their own mild influence o'er thee ? 
 
 And hast thou not felt, as thou stood'st to gaze, 
 
 The touching lesson such scene displays ? 
 
 It should be thus at an age like thine. 
 
 And it has been thus with me, 
 Wlien the freshness of feeling and heart were mine, 
 
 As they never more can be ; 
 Yet think not I ask thee to pity my lot, 
 Perhaps I see beauty where thou dost not. 
 
 Hast thou seen in winter's stormiest day 
 
 The trunk of a blighted oak. 
 Not dead, but sinking in slow decay. 
 
 Beneath time's resistless stroke. 
 Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown. 
 And AATcath'd it with verdure no longer its own.
 
 THE IVY. 129 
 
 Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then, 
 
 As I, at thy years, might do, 
 Pass'd carelessly by, nor turned again 
 
 That scathed wreck to view : 
 But now I can draw from that mouldering tree, 
 
 Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me. 
 
 O smile not, nor think it a worthless thing. 
 
 If it be with instruction fraught ; 
 That which will closest and longest cling, 
 
 Is alone worth a serious thought ; 
 Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed 
 Grace on the dying, and leaves not the dead ? 
 
 Now in thy youth beseech of Him 
 
 Who giveth upbraiding not, 
 That his light in thy heart become not dim. 
 
 And his love be unforgot ; 
 And thy God in the darkest of days will be 
 Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee ! 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 Many know much, but few know themselves.
 
 I 30 THE SKY LAKK. 
 
 THE SKY LARK. 
 
 Bird of the wilderness, 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless, 
 Light be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Bless'd in thy dwelling- place ! 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! . 
 
 Wild is thy lay and loud, 
 
 Far in the downy cloud, 
 Love gives it energy, — love gave it birth ; 
 
 Where on thy dewy wing, 
 
 Where art thou journeying ! 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 
 
 O'er fell and mountain green. 
 
 O'er moor and fountain sheen. 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day. 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim. 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim. 
 Musical cherub hie, hie, thee away !
 
 THOUGUT. 131 
 
 There when the gloaming comes, 
 
 Low in the heather hlooms, 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be, 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blessed is thy dwelling place ! 
 O, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 J. HOGG. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 What is thought ? it is a mine 
 
 Whose gems are of a land divine, 
 
 A power no tyrant may control ! 
 
 An emanation of the soul ! 
 
 A spark of a celestial fire, 
 
 To favoured man in mercy given : 
 
 Spirit of an immortal sire ! 
 
 A plant whose flower is heaven ! 
 
 O ! not beneath the sky's array 
 
 May highest thought with man unite ; 
 
 'Tis but a gleam of that fine light, 
 
 Wliose glory shines through an eternal day. 
 
 i2
 
 132 THE POWER OF MEMORY. 
 
 THE POWER OF MEMORY. 
 
 [This incident, so strongly illustrating the power of memory and 
 association in lower animals, is not a fiction. 1 heard it many years 
 ajo in the Island of Mull, from the family to whom the bird belonged.] 
 
 The deep affections of the breast, 
 
 That Heaven to living things imparts, 
 
 Are not exclusively possessed 
 By human hearts ! 
 
 A parrot from the Spanish main, 
 
 Full young and early caged, came o'er, 
 
 With bright wings to the bleak domain, 
 Of MuUa's shore. 
 
 The spicy groves where he had won 
 
 His plumage of resplendent hue, 
 His native fruits, and skies, and sun, 
 
 He bade adieu ! 
 
 For these he changed — the smoke of turf — 
 
 A heathery land and misty sky, 
 And turn'd on rocks and raging surf 
 
 His golden eye.
 
 THE HOME FEVER. 
 
 133 
 
 But, petted in our climate cold, 
 
 He lived and chatter'd many a day ; 
 Until with age, from green and gold, 
 
 His wings grew grey. 
 
 At last, when l)lind and seeming dumb — 
 He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more ; 
 
 A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
 To MuUa's shore. 
 
 He hail'd the bird in Spanish speech ; 
 
 The bird in Spanish speech replied ; 
 Flapp'd round his cage with joyous screech, 
 
 Dropp'd down and died. 
 
 T. CAMPBELL. 
 
 THE HOME FEVER. 
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF THE WEST INDIES. 
 
 We sat in a green verandah's shade, 
 Where the verdant " tye-tye" twined 
 
 Its fairy net-work around us, and made 
 A harp for the cool sea wind ; 
 
 That came there with its low wild tones at night, 
 
 Like a sigh that is telling of past delight.
 
 134 THE HOME FEVER. 
 
 And that wind with its tale of flowers had come 
 
 From the island groves away, 
 And the waves like wanderers returning home 
 
 To the beach came wearily ; 
 And the conch's far home call, the parrot's cry, 
 Had told that the sabbath of night was nigh. 
 
 We sat alone in that trellised bower 
 And gazed o'er the darkening deep, 
 
 And the holy calm of that twilight hour 
 Came over our hearts like sleep 
 
 And we dreamt of the " banks and bonny braes" 
 
 That had gladden'd our hearts in childhood's davs. 
 
 But he, the friend at my side that sat, 
 
 Was a boy whose path had gone 
 Through the flowers and fields of joy ; that fate 
 
 Like a mother had smiled upon ; 
 But alas for the time when our hopes have wings, 
 And when memory to grief like a syren sings. 
 
 His home had been on the stormy shore 
 
 Of Alleyn's mountain land ; 
 His ear was tuned to the breakers' roar, 
 
 And he loved the bleak sea sand ; 
 The torrent's din, and the howling breeze, 
 Had all his soul's wild symathies.
 
 THE HOME FEVER. 1 35 
 
 They had told liim tales of sunny lands 
 
 That rose over Indian seas, 
 Where gold shone sparkling from river sands. 
 
 And strange fruit bent the trees ; 
 They had wiled him away from his father's hearth, 
 With its light of peace, and voice of mirth. 
 
 Now, that fruit and the river gems were near, 
 
 And he stray'd 'neath the tropic sun ; 
 But the voice of promise that thrilled in his ear 
 
 At that joyous moment was gone ; 
 And the hope he had chased mid the wilds of night 
 Had melted away like a fire-fly's light. 
 
 O ! I have watched him gazing long 
 
 Where the home-bound vessels lay ; 
 Cheating sad thoughts with some old song. 
 
 And wiping his tears away. 
 Ah ! well I knew that his weary breast, 
 Like the dove of the deluge, pined for rest. 
 
 There was a " worm in the bud," whose fold 
 
 Defied the leech's art ; 
 Consumption's hectic plague spot told 
 
 The tale of a broken heart. 
 The boy knew that he was dying, but the sleep 
 Of death is bliss to those who watch and weep.
 
 136 THE BIRD AT SEA. 
 
 He died ; but memory's wizard power, 
 With his g-hostly train had come, 
 
 To the sad heart's ruins at that last hour, 
 And he murmured Home, Home, Home — 
 
 And his spirit fled with its happy dream, 
 
 Like a bird in the track of a bright sunbeam. 
 
 Oh, talk of spring to the trampled flower, 
 
 Of light to the fallen star. 
 Of glory to those who in danger's hour 
 
 Lie cold on the fields of war ; 
 But ye mock the exile's heart when you tell 
 Of aught but the home where it pines to dwell. 
 
 THE BIRD AT SEA. 
 
 Bird of the greenwood ! 
 
 Oh, why art thou here ? 
 Leaves dance not o'er thee, 
 
 Flowers bloom not near. 
 All the sweet waters 
 
 Far hence are at play, 
 Bird of the greenwood ! 
 
 Away, away!
 
 THE BIRD AT SEA. 137 
 
 Where the mast quivers 
 
 Thy place will not be, 
 As midst the waving 
 
 Of wild rose and tree ; 
 How shouldst thou battle 
 
 With storm and with spray ? 
 Bird of the greenwood ! 
 
 Away, away ! 
 
 Or art thou seeking- 
 
 Some brighter land. 
 Where by the south wind 
 
 Vine leaves are fanned ? 
 Midst the wild billows 
 
 Why then delay ? 
 Bird of the greenwood ! 
 
 Away, away ! 
 
 " Chide not my lingering 
 Where storms are dark ; 
 A hand that hath nursed me 
 
 Is in the bark ; 
 A heart that hath cherished 
 
 Through winter's long day — 
 So I turn from the greenwood, 
 Away, away \"
 
 138 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 What is Life ? 'tis an elegant shell 
 
 Thrown up by eternity's flow ; 
 On time's banks and quicksands to dwell, 
 
 And a moment its loveliness show : 
 But returned to its element grand 
 
 Is the billow that brought it ashore — 
 See ! another is washing the strand, 
 
 And the elegant shell is no more. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 What is Death ? 'tis a delicate cloud 
 
 Concealing a beautiful sky ; 
 'Tis mournfully clad in a shroud, 
 
 And we view it with sorrowful eye ; 
 But the zephyr that wafted it near 
 
 Will sleep in the silence of even ; 
 Then the delicate cloud will appear 
 
 Like death, as the portal of Heaven. 
 
 ANOX.
 
 WISDOM. 139 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 [" Where shall 'Wisdom be found ? and where is the place of under- 
 standing? the depth saith it is not in me; and the sea saith it is not 
 withme." /o?> xxviii. 13, 1 4.] 
 
 Where shall wisdom's light be found ? 
 Circled by yon starry bound ? 
 Hidden by the rolling main, 
 Buried 'neath the pathless plain, 
 Tenanting the grove's recess, 
 Or the desert wilderness ; 
 Heaven hath heard, but answers not, 
 Earth reveals no chosen spot ; 
 Voiceless stands the crested hill, 
 Rock and forest roof are still. 
 Silent smile the cloudless skies, 
 And the unfathomed deep replies, 
 " Child of wavering doubt and fear. 
 Seek thou not its presence here." 
 
 Dwells it in the senseless crowd ? 
 With the honor'd or the proud ? 
 Where the clustering wreaths conceal 
 Glory's red and wasting steel ? 
 By the monarch's gem-bright throne ? 
 Or the dwelling dark and lone.
 
 140 
 
 WISDOM. 
 
 Whence the sag-e's torch appears, 
 O'er the page of buried years ? 
 Grief, alas ! is linked with power ; — 
 Honour, but a summer flower ; 
 Fame, a meteor ; — doubly cursed 
 He whom dreams of wealth has nursed. 
 
 And on learning's treasures bent. 
 Who hath hoped or found content ? 
 Thou, whose uninstructed breast. 
 Baffled in its lengthen' d quest, 
 Deems its labour lost and vain, 
 Yet renew thy search again — 
 Wliere the eye of pity weeps. 
 And the sway of passion sleeps. 
 And the lamp of faith is burning, 
 And the ray of hope returning, 
 And the " still small voice" within, 
 Whispers not of wrath or sin. 
 Resting with the righteous dead. 
 Beaming' o'er the drooping head ; 
 Comforting the lowly mind, 
 Shines the treasure ; — seek and find. 
 
 L. F. H.
 
 THE altar's simplicity. HI 
 
 THE ALTAR'S SIMPLICITY. 
 
 [" And if thou wilt make me an altar of stone, thou shalt not build 
 it of hewn stone : for if thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted 
 it." — Exodus, XX, 25.] 
 
 Lord ! may the precept still impart 
 Its import to the Christian's heart, 
 And teach us, as we look to Thee, 
 Thy worship's true simplicity. 
 
 If thus, 'mid ancient forms, the aid 
 Of human art thy word forbade, 
 Choosing- for altar of thine own 
 Unhewn, and unpolluted stone ; 
 
 By more than emblematic speech, 
 Thy Spirit now this truth would teach, 
 Altars of flesh, like those of stone, 
 Must be prepared by Thee alone. 
 
 If now to Thee we build no more 
 An outward shrine as heretofore, 
 That in the heart, if truly thine, 
 Must yet be reared by power divine.
 
 142 CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 
 
 The meddling- touch of human will 
 Would make that shrine polluted still ; 
 The utmost stretch of human powers, 
 Would leave the fabric only ours. 
 
 Thine it should be ; — jn mercy deign 
 To build, — what we but build in vain, — 
 And when the work by Thee is done, 
 Accej)t its incense through thy Son. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. 
 
 I would not enter on my list of friends, 
 
 (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, 
 
 Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
 
 That crawls at evenings in the public path ; 
 
 But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, 
 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
 
 And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
 
 A visiter unwelcome, into scenes 
 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
 
 The chamber, or refectory, may die :
 
 CRUEI-TY TO AKIMALS. 143 
 
 A necessary act incurs no blame. 
 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 
 
 And guiltless of offence, they range the air. 
 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious field ; 
 
 There they are privileged ; and he that hunts 
 
 Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm. 
 
 Who, when she form'd, designed them an abode. 
 
 The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, 
 
 Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims 
 
 Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
 
 Else they are all — the meanest things that are — 
 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life. 
 
 As God was free to form them at the first. 
 
 Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 
 
 Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 
 To love it too. The spring-time of our years 
 
 Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most 
 
 By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
 
 To check them. 
 
 Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule 
 
 And righteous limitation of its act. 
 
 By which Heaven moves in pardoning' guilty man ; 
 
 And he that shews none, being ripe in years, 
 
 And conscious of the outrage he commits, 
 
 Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 
 
 COWPER.
 
 144 LINES ON LIBERATING A CHAMOIS. 
 
 LINES ON LIBERATING A CHAMOIS. 
 
 [Providence has formed this interesting animal with such instinctive 
 love of liherty, tliat it is hardly possible to confine it long: when once 
 convinced of its own strength, it constantly endt-avours to escape into 
 the rocks ; and almost all the young ones they have taken, with a vievr 
 of bringing them up tame, have made their escape.] 
 
 " Freeborn and beautiful ! the mountain 
 
 Has nought like thee ! 
 Fleet as the rush of Alpine fountain — 
 
 Fearless and free ! 
 Thy dazzling- eye outshines in brightness 
 
 The beam of Hope ; 
 Thine airy bound outstrips the lightness 
 
 Of antelope. 
 On clift's, where scarce the eagle's pinion 
 
 Can find repose, 
 Thou keep'st thy desolate dominion 
 
 Of trackless snows ! 
 Thy pride to roam where man's ambition 
 
 Could never climb, 
 And make thy world a dazzling vision 
 
 Of Alps sublime !
 
 LINES ON LIBERATING A CHAMOIS. 145 
 
 How glorious are the dawns that wake thee 
 
 To thy repast ! 
 And, where their fading- lights forsake thee, 
 
 They shine the last. 
 Thy clime is pure — thy heaven is clearer — 
 
 Brighter than ours ; 
 To thee, the desert snows are dearer 
 
 Than summer flowers. 
 
 No kindness, fear, nor love can tame thee— 
 
 The desert born ! 
 Then go, where thy free comrades claim thee, 
 
 And meet the morn ! 
 There, all thy kindred rights inherit, 
 
 And ne'er again 
 May hunter's guile on thy free spirit 
 
 Impose a chain !" 
 
 If thy conscience blame thee, though ever so little, despise it 
 not, nor neglect the secret check, 'tis a message from heaven, 
 sent to summon thee to thy duty. 
 
 K
 
 146 THE MURDERED SLAVE. 
 
 THE MURDERED SLAVE. 
 
 Planter. — " What can Jesus Christ do for you now V 
 Negro. — "He teach me to pray for you, Massa!" 
 
 Authentic Anecdote. 
 
 He died beneath the lash, — ^his mortal frame 
 
 Could bear no more, and Death in mercy came ! 
 
 Patient and calm his spirit pass'd away, 
 
 And now his Ijody sleeps beneath the clay ; 
 
 His toils are over, and his weary breast 
 
 Has found, what Man in life denied him, — Rest. 
 
 Poor slumbering dust,— is there that passes by 
 
 And yields thy death the tribute of a sigh ? 
 
 The Tyrant tramples on thy lowly grave, 
 
 'Tis but the ashes of a Murdered Slave ! 
 
 And even the more humane have learned to steel 
 
 Their hearts, and think that only White Men feel ! 
 
 But Jesus looked upon the scene of Death, 
 
 And marked the Negro's last expiring breath ; 
 
 Sustain'd tliat breath to speak a parting word, 
 
 An humble witness for his Gracious Lord : 
 
 And bade him, like the dying Prince of Heaven, 
 
 Pray that his Murderers might be forgiven ! 
 
 The gloomy Vale he passed, — the pang was o'er, — 
 
 He felt the lash of Slavery no more, — 
 
 He dropp'd his quivering flesh upon the sod, 
 
 And flew to meet his Saviour and his God.
 
 WHAT IS TRUTH? 147 
 
 They dug his burial place, — and cast within 
 The bleeding record of a Nation's sin: — 
 No eye might dare to pity, or to weep. 
 No fond affection there its watches keep ; 
 The purple stain that told the deed was done 
 Was bleached by midnight dews and noontide sun ; 
 The "White Man trod as common ground the spot 
 Where lay the Slave he Murder'd and forgot. 
 — Yet there is hid a safe and sacred trust, 
 Angels are guarding the despised dust ; — 
 And on that day when all the dead shall rise. 
 Shall bear their charge with shoutings to the skies. 
 
 M. B. TUCKEY. 
 
 WHAT IS TRUTH? 
 
 O, 'tis a pure and holy light. 
 
 All glorious, yet serenely bright. 
 
 Which shineth to the perfect day. 
 
 And guides the pilgrim on his way. 
 
 While through the parch'd and barren land, 
 
 With tottering step and nerveless hand, 
 
 He holds the passing things of earth, 
 
 As aliens to his nobler birth ; — 
 
 That light points to a nobler aim. 
 
 He views a rest, a place, a name ; 
 
 K 2
 
 148 VIEW OF THE LAKE GENEVA, ETC 
 
 Horizon bounds not, 'tis afar, 
 Above, beyond the brightest star. 
 O, 'tis a g-lorious radiant beam, 
 Pearl of life's uncertain stream : 
 Heaven is its first, its blest abode, 
 Its author and its essence, God. 
 
 M. M. INGLIS. 
 
 VIEW OF THE LAKE GENEVA FROM 
 THE JURA. 
 
 'Twas late, — the sun had almost shone 
 His last and best when I ran on, 
 Anxious to reach that splendid view 
 Before the day-beams quite withdrew ; 
 And feeling-, as all feel at first. 
 Approaching scenes, where they are told 
 Such glories on their eyes shall burst, 
 As youthful bards in dreams behold. 
 'Twas distant yet, and as I ran. 
 Full often was my wishful gaze 
 Turned to the sun, who now began 
 To call in all his out-post rays.
 
 VIEW OF THE LAKE GENEVA, ETC. 149 
 
 And form a denser march of light, 
 Such as beseems a hero's flight. 
 Oh ! how I wished for Joshua's power, 
 To stay the brightness of that hour — 
 But no, — the sun still less became, 
 Diminished to a speck as splendid, 
 And small as were those tongues of flame 
 That on the Apostles' heads descended. 
 'Twas at this instant — while there glowed 
 This last intensest gleam of light. 
 Suddenly, through the opening road. 
 The valley burst upon my sight ! 
 That glorious valley, with its lake, 
 And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling. 
 Mighty and pure, and fit to make 
 The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling : 
 I stood entranced, and mute as they 
 Of Israel think the assembled world 
 Will stand upon that awful day, 
 When the Ark's light aloft unfurled. 
 Among the opening clouds shall shine 
 Divinity's own radiant sign ! 
 Mighty Mont Blanc ! thou wert to me, 
 That minute, with thy brow in Heaven, 
 As sure a sign of Deity 
 As ere to mortal gaze was given ;
 
 150 VIEW OF THE I/AKE GENEVA, ETC. 
 
 Nor ever, were I destin'd yet 
 
 To live my life twice o'er again, 
 
 Can I the deep-felt awe forget, 
 
 The ecstasy that thrilled me then. 
 
 'Twas all that consciousness of power, 
 
 And life beyond this mortal hour, 
 
 At thoughts of Heaven — as birds begin 
 
 By instinct in the cage to rise, 
 
 When near their time for change of skies ; 
 
 That proud assurance of our claim 
 
 To rank among the sons of light, 
 
 Mingled with shame, oh! bitter shame! 
 
 At having risked that splendid sight. 
 
 For ought that earth through all its range 
 
 Of glories, offers in exchange. 
 
 'Twas all this, at the instant brought, 
 
 Like breaking sunshine, o'er my thought — 
 
 'Twas all this, kindled to a glow 
 
 Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine 
 
 Thus purely ever — man might grow, 
 
 E'en upon earth a thing divine. 
 
 And be once more, the creature made 
 
 To walk unstained the elysian shade. 
 
 No I never shall I loose the trace 
 
 Of what I've felt in this bright place; 
 
 And should my spirit's hope grow weak,
 
 GO WHERE THE RIVER. 151 
 
 Should I, oh God ! e'er doubt thy power, 
 
 This mighty scene again I'll seek, 
 
 At the same calm and glowing hour, 
 
 And here at the sublimest shrine 
 
 That nature ever reared to thee. 
 
 Rekindle all that hope divine, 
 
 AxvAfeel my immortality. moore. 
 
 «G0 WHERE THE RIVER." 
 
 Go where the river glideth gently ever, 
 
 Glideth through the meadows that the greenest be ; 
 Go listen to our own beloved river. 
 And think of me ! 
 
 Wander in forests where the small flower layeth 
 
 Its fairy germ beneath the giant tree ; 
 List where the wild brook pineth while it playeth. 
 And think of me ! 
 
 Watch when the stars are silver pale at even. 
 
 And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree ; 
 Go forth beneath the solitary Heaven, 
 And think of me ! 
 
 W^hen the moon riseth pale as she were dreaming, 
 
 And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea; 
 Go wander like a star beneath her beaming, 
 
 And think of me ! J. HAMILTON.
 
 \ 
 
 152 LINES TO MR. GEORGE BENNET. 
 
 TO MR. GEORGE BENNET, 
 
 On his intended visit to Otaheite. 
 
 Go, take the wings of morn, 
 Anil fly beyond the utmost sea, 
 Thou shalt not feel thyself forlorn, 
 Thy God is still with thee ; 
 And where his Spirit bids thee dwell. 
 There, and there only, thou art well. 
 
 Forsake thy father-land. 
 
 Kindred, and friends, and pleasant home : 
 
 O'er ijiany a rude barbarian strand. 
 
 In exile though thou roam, 
 Walk there with God, and thou shalt find 
 Double for all thy faith resign'd. 
 
 Launch boldly on the surge, 
 
 And in a light and fragile bark 
 
 Thy path through flood and tempest urge, 
 
 Like Noah in the ark — • 
 Then tread, like him, a new world's shore, 
 Thine altar build, and God adore.
 
 lilNES TO MR. GEORGE BENNET. 153 
 
 Leave our Jerusalem, Ck 
 
 Jehovah's temple and his rest ; 
 
 Go, where no Sabbath brake on them 
 
 Whom Pagan gloom oppress'd, 
 Till bright, thoug-h late, around their isles 
 The g-ospel-dawn awoke in smiles : 
 
 Amidst that dawn from far, 
 
 Be thine expected presence shown, 
 
 Rise on them like the morning'-star, 
 
 In glory — not thine own — ■ 
 And tell them, while they hail the sig-ht, 
 IVho turn'd thif darkness into light. 
 
 Tell them, his hovering rays 
 
 Already gild their ocean's brim, 
 
 Ere long o'er heav'n and earth to blaze : 
 
 Direct all eyes to him. 
 The Sun of Righteousness, who brings 
 Mercy and healing on his wings. 
 
 NiJr thou disdain to teach 
 
 To savage hordes, celestial truth — 
 
 To infant tongues thy mother's speech — 
 
 Ennobling arts to youth ; 
 Till warriors fling their arms aside, 
 O'er bloodless fields the plough to guide.
 
 154 LINES TO MR. GEORGE BENNET. 
 
 Train them, by patient toil, 
 To rule the waves, subdue the ground, 
 Enrich themselves with Nature's spoil. 
 With harvest-trophies crown'd. 
 
 Till coral-reefs 'midst desert seas 
 
 Become the true Hesperides. 
 
 Thus, then, in peace depart, 
 And ang-els guide thy footsteps, — No : 
 There is a feeling in the heart 
 That will not let thee go : 
 
 Yet, go, — thy spirit stays with me ; 
 
 Yet, go, — my spirit goes with thee ! 
 
 Though the wide world between 
 
 Our feet conglobe its solid mass ! 
 
 Though lands and waters intervene, 
 
 Which I must never pass : 
 Though day and night with thee be chang'd, 
 Seasons revers'd, and clime estrang'd : 
 
 Yet one in soul — and one 
 In faith, and hope, and purpose yet, 
 God's witness in the heav'ns — yon sun 
 Forbid thee to forget. 
 Those from whose eyes his orb retires, 
 When thine his morning-beauty fires !
 
 LINES TO MR. GEORGE BENNET. 155 
 
 When tropic gloom returns, 
 
 Mark what new stars their vigils keep ; 
 
 How glares the Wolf, the Phoenix burns ; 
 
 And on the stormless deep, 
 The ship of heav'n — the patriarch's Dove, 
 The Emblem of redeeming love.* 
 
 While these enchant thine eye, 
 
 O think how often we have walk'd, 
 
 Gaz'd on the glories of our sky — 
 
 Of higher glories talk'd, 
 Till our hearts caught a kindling ray, 
 And burned within us by the way. 
 
 Those hours, those walks are past ! 
 
 We part — and ne'er again may meet ; 
 
 Why are the joys that will not last, 
 
 So perishingly sweet ? 
 Farewell ! we surely meet again 
 In life or death : farewell till then ! 
 
 J. MONTGOMERY. 
 
 • The Constellation Crux.
 
 156 C(EUR DE LION. 
 
 CCEUR DE LION. 
 
 A warrior's arm of stalwart might, 
 
 Which well could wield the spear or sword ; 
 A heart undaunted in the fight, 
 
 And giillant at the festive board ; 
 A monarch's and a minstrel's fame 
 
 In tented fields of Palestine ; 
 A bold crusader's dreaded name : — 
 
 These, Cceur de Lion ! these were thine. 
 
 Yet what was the result of all 
 
 Thy skill and prowess in the fray ? 
 Thy bearing in the banquet hall. 
 
 The gayest there among the gay ? 
 Wliat meed did sword or lyre obtain, 
 
 Once far renowned o'er land and sea ? 
 Rude honours and a ruder strain 
 
 Were all, alas ! they won for thee. 
 
 A name to still a froward child *; % 
 
 Or taunt a Painim's startled steed ; 
 
 A wreath by blood and tears defiled — 
 These were thy valour's empty meed. 
 
 • In Palestine Cceur de Lion left behind him an impression that long 
 survived himself. His dreaded name was employed by the Syrian 
 mothers to silence their froward children ; and if a horse suddenly started 
 from the way, his rider would exclaim : " Uost thou think Kin); 
 Richard is in that bu.>h?" — Hack's English Stories.
 
 JOHN HOWARD. 157 
 
 Then who would chivalry deplore ? 
 
 Or who its barbarous splendours sing ? 
 Since all its glories did no more 
 
 For England's lion-hearted king. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 JOHN HOWARD. 
 
 A spirit of unwearied zeal, 
 
 Patience which nothing could subdue, 
 A heart the woes of man to feel, 
 
 In every varied form and hue ; 
 An open hand, and eye, and ear. 
 
 For all in prisons doomed to pine ; 
 A voice the captive's hopes to cheer ; — 
 
 These, noble Howard ! these were thine. 
 
 In cells by mercy's feet untrod, 
 
 'Twas thine the mourner's lot to scan ; 
 Thy polar star the love of God, 
 
 Thy chart and compass love to man. 
 To mitigate the law's stern wrath 
 
 Thou trod'st with steadfast heart and eye, 
 " An open, unfrequented path 
 
 To fame and immortality !"
 
 158 SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE. 
 
 Wliat was thy meed ? — a strang-er's grave, 
 
 Divided from thy native land 
 By many a white and stormy wave, 
 
 By many a weary waste of sand. 
 Yet to that lone and distant tomb 
 
 Thy name its memory may entrust, 
 'Till cloudless glory burst its gloom. 
 
 And thou shalt rise to meet the just ! 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE. 
 DEW, THE FLOWER OF YOUTH. 
 
 PART L 
 
 Sweet is the time of Spring, 
 
 When nature's charms appear ; 
 The birds with ceaseless pleasure sing, 
 
 And hail the opening year. 
 
 But sweeter far the Spring 
 
 Of wisdom and of grace, 
 Wlien children bless and praise their King, 
 
 Who loves the youthful race.
 
 SPRING, THE MORNING OF LIFE. 159 
 
 Sweet is the dawn of day, 
 
 Wlien light just streaks the sky ; 
 When shades and darkness pass away, 
 
 And morning's beams are nigh. 
 
 But sweeter far the dawn 
 
 Of piety in youth ; 
 When doubt and darkness are withdrawn, 
 
 Before the light of Truth. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Sweet is the early dew, 
 
 Which gilds the mountains' tops, 
 And decks each plant and flower we view 
 
 With pearly glittering drops. 
 
 But sw^eeter far the scene. 
 
 On Zion's holy hill ; 
 When there the dew of youth is seen, 
 
 Its freshness to distil. 
 
 Sweet is the op'ning flower 
 Which just begins to bloom, 
 
 Which ev'ry day and ev'ry hour 
 Fresh beauties will assume.
 
 IGO TEMPER AS IT SHOULD BE. 
 
 But sweeter that young' heart, 
 Where faith, and love, and peace. 
 
 Blossom and bloom in every part, 
 With sweet and varied grace. 
 
 ANON. 
 
 TEMPER AS IT SHOULD BE. 
 
 Since trifles make the sum of human things, 
 
 And half our misery from our foibles springs ; 
 
 Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease, 
 
 And few can save or serve, but all can please ; 
 
 Oh ! let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, 
 
 A small unkindness is a great offence. 
 
 Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain. 
 
 But all may shun the guilt of giving pain. 
 
 To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth, 
 
 With power to grace them, or to crown with health, 
 
 Our little lot denies ; but Heaven decrees 
 
 To all the gift of ministering to ease. 
 
 The gentle offices of patient love, 
 
 Beyond all flattery, and all price above ; 
 
 The mild forbearance of anothers fault ; 
 
 The taunting word suppressed as soon as thought :
 
 TEMPER AS IT SHOULD BE. I6l 
 
 On these Heaven bade the sweets of life depend, 
 
 And crushed ill fortune when it made a friend. 
 
 A solitary blessing few can find ; 
 
 Our joys with those we love are intertwin'd ; 
 
 And he, whose wakeful tenderness removes 
 
 Th' obstructing- thorn which wounds the friend he loves, 
 
 Smoothes not another's rugged path alone, 
 
 But scatters roses to adorn his own. 
 
 Small slights, contempt, neglect, unmix'd with hate, 
 
 Make up in number what they want in weight ; 
 
 These, and a thousand griefs, minute as these, 
 
 Corrode our comforts, and destroy our peace. 
 
 H. MORE. 
 
 Mirth is like a flash of lightning that breaks through a gloom 
 of clouds and glitters for a moment ; cheerfulness keeps up a, 
 kind of day-light in the mind, and fills it with a steady and per- 
 petual serenity. 
 
 li
 
 162 THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 They grew in beauty side by side, 
 Tliey fiU'd one home with glee — 
 
 Their graves are severed far and wide, 
 By mount, and stream, and sea ! 
 
 The same fond mother bent at night 
 
 O'er each fair sleeping brow. 
 She had each folded flower in sight — 
 
 Where are those dreamers now ? 
 
 One, 'midst the forests of the west 
 
 By a dark stream is laid ; 
 The Indian knows his place of rest. 
 
 Far in the cedar shade. 
 
 The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one, 
 
 He lies where pearls lie deep ; 
 He was the lov'd of all, yet none 
 
 O'er his low bed may weep. 
 
 One sleeps where southern vines are dress'd 
 
 Above the noble slain, 
 He wrapt his colours round his breast, 
 
 On a blood-red field of Spain.
 
 THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY KNOW. 163 
 
 And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 
 
 Its leaves by soft winds fann'd, 
 She faded 'midst Italian flowers, 
 
 The last of that brig-ht band. 
 
 And parted thus, they rest who play'd 
 
 Beneath the same g-reen tree. 
 Whose voices mingled as they pray'd 
 
 Around one parent knee ! 
 
 They that with smiles lit up the hall, 
 
 And cheer'd with song' the hearth — 
 Alas, for love, if thou wert all, 
 
 And nought beyond, on earth! 
 
 F. HEMANS. 
 
 Let no one tliink he may live for himself alone, each indivi- 
 dual has a sphere of usefulness to occupy, and his happiness is 
 closely connected with the performances of his duty. 
 
 L 2
 
 164 THE LAND WHICH NO MOKTAL MAT KNOW. 
 
 THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MAY 
 KNOW. 
 
 Thougli Earth has full many a beautiful spot, 
 
 As a poet or painter might show ; 
 Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and brig-ht, 
 To the hopes of the heart and the spirit's glad sight, 
 
 Is the Land that no mortal may know. 
 
 There the crystalline stream bursting forth from the 
 Throne 
 
 Flows on and for ever will flow ; 
 Its waves as they roll are with melody rife, 
 And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life, 
 
 In the Land which no mortal may know. 
 
 And there on its margin with leaves ever-green, 
 With its fruits healing sickness and woe, 
 
 The fair Tree of Life in its glory and pride 
 
 Is fed by that deep inexhaustible tide, 
 
 Of the Land which no mortal may know. 
 
 There too are the lost whom we loved on this earth, 
 With whose mem'ries our bosoms yet glow, 
 
 Their relics we gave to the place of the dead ; 
 
 But their glorified spirits have fled 
 
 To the Land which no mortal may know.
 
 A THUNDER STORM. 165 
 
 There the pale orb of nig-ht and the fountain of day, 
 
 Nor beauty nor splendour bestow, 
 But the presence of Him, the unchanging' " I am," 
 And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb, 
 
 Light the Land which no mortal may know. 
 
 Oh, who but must pine in this dark vale of tears, 
 
 From its clouds and its shadows to go, 
 To walk in the light of the glory above, 
 And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love. 
 Of the Land which no mortal may know. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 A THUNDER STORM. 
 
 Ye giant winds ! that from your gloomy sleep 
 Rise in your wrath, and revel on the deep ; 
 Lightnings ! that are the mystic gleams of God, 
 That glanc'd when on the sacred mount He trod ; 
 And ye, ye tlnmders ! that begird His form. 
 Pealing your loud Hosannah's o'er the storm ! 
 Around me rally in your mingled might. 
 And strike my being with a dread delight ; 
 Sublimely musing let me pause and see, 
 And pour my awe-struck soul, O God ! to Thee.
 
 166 A THUNDER STORM. 
 
 A Thunder Storm ! — the eloquence of heaven, 
 When every cloud is from its slumber riven, 
 "Who hath not paused beneath its hollow g-roan, 
 And felt Omnipotence around him thrown ? 
 With what a gloom the ushering- scene appears ! 
 The leaves all fluttering with instinctive fears, 
 The waters curling with a fellow dread, 
 A breezeless fervour round creation spread. 
 And last, the heavy rains reluctant shower 
 With big drops patt'ring on the tree and bower. 
 While wizard shapes, the bowing sky deform, — 
 All mark the coming of the Thunder Storm. 
 
 Oh ! now to be alone, on some grand height, 
 
 Where heaven's black curtain shadows all the sight, 
 
 And watch the swollen clouds their bosom clash. 
 
 While fleet and far the living lightnings flash, — 
 
 To mark the cavern of the sky disclose 
 
 The furnace flames that in their womb repose, 
 
 And see the fiery arrows fall and rise, 
 
 In dizzy chase along the rattling skies, — 
 
 How stirs the spirit while the echoes roll. 
 
 And God in thunder rocks from pole to pole ! 
 
 ROBERT MONTGOMERY.
 
 victoria's tears. 167 
 
 VICTORIA'S TEARS. 
 
 " O maiden, heir of kings, 
 A king has left his place. 
 The majesty of death has swept 
 
 All other from his face. 
 And thou, upon thy mother's breast, 
 
 No longer lean adown, 
 But take the glory for the rest, 
 And rule the land that loves thee best." 
 The maiden wept ; 
 She wept to wear a crown. 
 
 They decked her courtly halls, 
 They reined her hundred steeds. 
 They shouted at her palace gate, 
 
 " A noble Queen succeeds !" 
 Her name has stirred the mountain's sleep. 
 
 Her praise has filled the town : 
 And mourners God had stricken deep. 
 Looked hearkening up, and did not weep ! 
 Alone she wept, 
 Who wept to wear a crown.
 
 168 victoria's tears. 
 
 She saw no purples shine, 
 For tears had dimmed her eyes : 
 She only knew her childhood's flowers 
 
 Were happier pag'eantries ! 
 For while the heralds played their part 
 For million shouts to drown, 
 " God save the Queen !" from hill to mart, 
 She heard through all her beating heart. 
 And turned and wept ! 
 She wept to wear a crown. 
 
 God save thee, weeping; Queen, 
 Thou shalt be well beloved 1 
 The tyrant's sceptre cannot move 
 
 As those pure tears have mov'd ! 
 The nature in thine eyes we see, 
 Which tyrants cannot own, — 
 The love that guardeth liberties. 
 Strange blessing on the nation lies, 
 Whose sovereign wept. 
 Yea, wept to wear its crown. 
 
 God bless thee, weeping Queen, 
 With blessing more divine, 
 And fill with better love than earth's 
 That tender heart of thine ;
 
 woman's prayer. 169 
 
 That when the thrones of earth shall be 
 
 As low as graves brought down, 
 A pierced hand may give to thee, 
 The crown which angels shout to see, — 
 Thou wilt not weep 
 
 To wear that heavenly crown. 
 
 WOMAN'S PRAYER. 
 
 She bowed her head before the throne, 
 
 Of the eternal King — 
 The sun upon her forehead shone, 
 
 With the first light of spring. 
 In meekness and in love she stood, 
 
 A thing of mortal care : 
 But pure and strong in womanhood. 
 
 In faithfulness and prayer. 
 
 She had been chastened with that woe ; 
 
 The young heart in its pride 
 111 bears, when wakening from the glow 
 
 Love's happy dreams supplied ; 
 But she had in her weakness sought 
 
 The spirit's strength and food. 
 And faith within her soul had wrought 
 
 A deep and fervent mood.
 
 1 70 woman's prayer. 
 
 The people of her father's land 
 
 Had left their onward path, 
 And God had raised his threatening hand 
 
 Against them in his wrath ; 
 Her voice arose with theirs — the few 
 
 Who still were faithful there — 
 And peace was given and healing dew 
 
 To woman's voice of prayer. 
 
 Oh, strong is woman in the power 
 
 Of loveliness and youth ; 
 And rich in her heart's treasured dower 
 
 Of strong, unchanging truth. 
 But who may tell her spirit's might 
 
 Above what strength may dare, 
 When in life's troubles, and its night. 
 
 Her heart is bowed in prayer ? 
 
 H. STEBBING. 
 
 Habits of active benevolence, when formed with simplicity and 
 singlenesst of heart, may yield far more advantage to ourselves 
 than the limited nature of our exertions can allow us to confer 
 upon others.
 
 TO A PEN. 171 
 
 TO A PEN. 
 
 Write to the young and fair 
 
 That Ufe is but a dream — 
 A vapour in the air — 
 
 A straw upon the stream. 
 
 That every thing beneath 
 
 The sun will quickly fade ; 
 And the pale phantom death 
 
 Lies hid in ambuscade. 
 
 Bid them upon the wings 
 
 Of never-pausing time, 
 Inscribe fair wisdom's things 
 
 In characters sublime. 
 
 A. C 
 
 A lady piqued at Johnson's scrupulous advocacy of truth, 
 once asserted that little variations in narrative must happen 
 many times a day, without one is perpetual watching. — To which 
 Johnson replied, "Well, madam, and you ought to be per- 
 petually watching. It is more from carelessness about truth, 
 than from intentional lying, that there is so much falsehood in 
 the world."
 
 172 rSALM XIX. 
 
 PSALM XIX. 
 
 Tlie heavens declare thy glory, Lord — 
 The spacious firmament thy word 
 Created hright from day to day, 
 Thy sun to shine and power display. 
 Thy myriad stars which heam on high 
 Proclaim, O God, that thou art nigh. 
 Throughout thy works thy presence shines- 
 Thy works ahove no voice confines, 
 Throughout the myriad host of heaven, 
 Where speech or language thou hast given. 
 Their line extends from pole to pole, 
 Their words proclaim to every soul 
 Thou art their God, Almighty, Lord, 
 Worthy alone to be adored. 
 
 Thy morning light rejoicing' beams 
 Refulgent in its goklen streams. 
 From that bright orb whose glorious flame 
 Emblazons high thy sacred name. 
 Forthcoming as a bridegroom clad, 
 Whose smile exulting nature, glad 
 To own her lord, arising bright 
 From out his chamber for the night. 
 Rejoicing in his course begun, 
 Exulting for the goal to run, 
 His genial ray pervading all. 
 Refreshing every living soul.
 
 PSALM XIX. 173 
 
 Thy law, O Lord, is perfect, pure — 
 Thy testimony safe and sure ; 
 The soul converting — making' wise 
 The simple heart — the filmy eyes 
 Enlight'ning — all thy statutes right. 
 And thy commandment my delight. 
 Thy fear is clean, which lives for ever, 
 Thy judgments righteous altogether ; 
 To be desired more than gold. 
 Or aught the golden mines unfold ; 
 Sweeter than the honey-comb — 
 By them thy servant's warned from 
 His secret faults, and understands 
 The errors which impede his hands ; 
 For thou, O God, must be my guard, 
 My great preserver and reward. 
 Keep me from presumptuous sin — 
 Let me own thy glory in 
 Every thought my heart conceals. 
 Every word my tongue reveals ; 
 Accepted, pure, and free from guile, 
 Let me own thy fav'ring smile ; 
 For thou alone my strength canst be 
 Or keep my soul in purity — 
 My great Redeemer, and my Lord, 
 VVorthv alone to be adored. 
 
 S.
 
 174 VALEDICTORY VERSES. 
 
 VALEDICTORY VERSES. 
 
 Our work of love is finish'd now, 
 
 Our pleasant task is ended ; 
 The blossoms cuU'd frona many a bough 
 
 In one bright wreath are blended. 
 But flowers alone can ne'er repay 
 
 Their efforts who entwin'd them, 
 Unless they leave, when pass'd away, 
 
 Enduring fruits behind them. 
 
 ^'8 
 
 To YOU we turn, for whose dear sakes 
 
 Were glean'd these scatter'd blossoms, 
 And many a warm hope fondly wakes 
 
 For you — within our bosoms. 
 Jvow — in the morning of your day. 
 
 With hearts and spirits tender. 
 To Him — their truest strength and stay. 
 
 Your every hope surrender. 
 
 His friendship, only, changeth not. 
 
 His favour never falters ! 
 Oh, how unlike the world's, I wot. 
 
 Whose aspect hourly alters ! 
 If, for HIS CAUSE, you early slight 
 
 Earth's gauds — you will not need 'em ; 
 Easy His yoke. His burthen light, 
 
 His service — perfect freedom ! 
 
 ?
 
 VALEDICTORY VERSES. 175 
 
 Farewell ! unto his word take heed, 
 
 Which happier makes — and wiser ! 
 And may you better " reck the rede," * 
 
 Than ever did the adviser. 
 So shall the joy that truly glads, 
 
 The peace which thought surpasses. 
 Be shower'd on Brookfield's merry Lads, 
 
 Its dear and gentle Lasses. 
 
 B. BARTON. 
 
 • " Reck the rede," i.e. "heed the counsel." — See Burns' Epistle to 
 a I'ming Friend.
 
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