BECAUSE I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of,,Mother", Therefore by that dear name I long have called you

You, who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you

In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew But that infinity with which my wife

Was dearer to my soul than its soul- life.

THE PILGRIM FATHERS.

THE Pilgrim Fathers,

The waves that brought them o'er Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray As they break along the shore:

Still roll in the bay, as they roll'd that day When the sea around was black with storms,

And white the shore with snow.

Shall foam and freeze no more.

JERUSALEM.

JERUSALEM, Jerusalem,

How glad should I have been, Could I, in my lone wanderings, Thine aged walls have seen! Could I have gazed upon the dome Above thy towers that swells, And heard, as evening's sun went down, Thy parting camels' bells:

Yea, from that day when SALEM knelt And bent her queenly neck

To him who was, at once, her priest
And king, MELCHISEDEK,

To this, when Egypt's ABRAHAM
The sceptre and the sword
Shakes o'er her head, her holy men

Have bow'd before the Lord.

Jerusalem, I would have scen
Thy precipices steep,

The trees of palm that overhang

Thy gorges dark and deep,

The goats that cling along thy cliffs, And browse upon thy rocks, Beneath whose shade lie down, alike, Thy shepherds and their flocks.

Her silver lamp so pale,

Beneath those ancient olive trees

That grow in Kedron's vale, Whose foliage from the pilgrim hides

The city's wall sublime,

Whose twisted arms and gnarled trunks Defy the scythe of time.

The garden of Gethsemane

Those aged olive trees

Are shading yet, and in their shade

I would have sought the breeze, That, like an angel, bathed the brow,

And bore to heaven the prayer

Of Jesus, when in agony

He sought the Father there.

I would have gone to Calvary,
And, where the MARYS stood,
Bewailing loud the Crucified,

As near him as they could,

I would have stood, till night o'er carth
Her heavy pall had thrown,
And thought upon my Saviour's cross,
And learn'd to bear my own.

Freedom's banners greet thy ray;
See! how cheerfully they play

With the morning breeze,

On the rocks where pilgrims kneel'd,
On the heights where squadrons wheel'd
When a tyrant's thunder peal'd,

O'er the trembling seas.

God of armies! did thy stars
In their courses smite his cars,
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars

From the heaving tide?
On our standard, lo! they burn,
And, when days like this return,
Sparkle o'er the soldier's urn,
Who for freedom died.

WAS it the chime of a tiny bell
That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell
That the winds of the beach, so mellow
and clear,

When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,

And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep,

She dispensing her silvery light
And he his notes as silvery quite,
While the boatman listens and ships his oar,
To catch the music, that comes from the
shore?

Hark! the notes on my ear that play,
Are set to words: as they float, they say,

„Passing away! passing away!"

But no; it was not a fairy's shell,
Blown on the beach so mellow and clear;
Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell,
Striking the hour, that fill'd my ear,
As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime,
That told of the flow of the stream of time.
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung,
And a plump little girl, for a pendulum,

swung;

(As you've some times seen, in a little ring That hangs in his cage, a canary bird swing;)

And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, And as she enjoy'd it, she seem'd to say:

„Passing away, passing away !"

O how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow!

And the hands as they swept o'er the dial of gold,

Seemed to point to the girl below.
And lo! she had changed:

Beneat

in a few short

hours

I cannot make him dead!
His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;

Yet, when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,