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I feel the cold sweat stand;
We've stayed to watch the budding things My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my and flowers, breath
Forget it not! Comes feebly up. Oh! tell me, is this death?
Plant there some box or pineMother! your hand
Something that lives in winter, and will be
A verdant offering to my memory, Here--lay it on my wrist,
And call it mine!” And place the other thus, beneath my head,
Sister! my young rose tree-And say, sweet mother!--say, when I am That all the spring has been my pleasant dead,
care, Shall I be missed ?
Just putting forth its leaves so green and
fair, Never beside
I give it thee.
I shall be gone away-my short life done! You taught to me!
But will you not bestow a single one
Upon my tomb?” -
You sang last night--I'm weary and must You will not wait then for my coming feet
sleep! You'll miss me there!”_
Who was it called my name?-Nay, do not
weep, "Father! I'm going home!
You'll all come soon!” To the good home you speak of, that blest land
Morning spread over earth her rosy wingsWhere it is one bright summer always, and And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory Storms do not come.
Lay on his couch asleep! The gentle air I must be happy then:
Came through the open window, freighted From pain and death you say I shall be with free
The savoury odours of the early springThat sickness never enters there, and we He breathed it not! The laugh of passers Shall meet again!"
Jarred like a discord in some mournful tune, Brother! the little spot
But marred not his slumbers---He wag I used to call my garden, where long hours dead!
DEAD on the battle field
See the brave hound.
Open the wound:
Still a safe watch he keeps,
Stands the bold hound.
Prone on the ground.
Master and hound.
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
The stately homes of England !
The cottage homes of England ! How beautiful they stand,
By thousands on her plains, Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, O'er all the pleasant land !
And round the hamlet fanes. The deer across their greensward bound Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Through shade and sunny gleam;
Each fror nook of leaves; And the swan glides by them with the sound And fearless there the lowly sleep, Of some rejoicing stream.
As the bird beneath the eaves. The merry homes of England !
The free, fair homes of England !
Long, long, in hut and hall,
To guard each hallowed wall !
And green for ever be the groves, How softly on their bowers
And bright the flowery sod, Is laid the holy quietness
Where first the child's glad spirit loves That breathes from Sabbath hours !
Its country and its God!
WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR ?
Go thou and shelter them.
Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave, Thy soothing hand may press.
Fettered in thought and limb, Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor, Whose hopes are all beyond the grave; Whose eye with want is dim;
Go thou and ransom him. Whom hunger sends from door to door;
Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Go thou and succour him.
Less favoured than thine own, Thy neighbour? Tis that weary man, Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm, Whose years are at their brim,
Thy brother, or thy son. Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain;
Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by;
Perhaps thou canst redeem
Go share thy lot with him.
A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE.
WHAT can a mother's heart repay,
In after years,
And anxious tears?
For later care,
For counsel against passion's sway,
And earnest prayer?-
If that loved band,
“Next to God's hand,
Rev. W. CALVERT
FIDELITY. A BARKING sound the shepherd hears, Not free from boding thoughts, a while A cry as of a dog or fox;
The shepherd stood; then makes his way He halts, and searches with his eye O'er rocks and stones, following the dog Among the scattered rocks :
As quickly as he may; And now at distance can discern
Nor far had gone before he found A stirring in a brake of fern;
A human skeleton on the ground ! And instantly a dog is seen,
The appalled discoverer with a sigh Glancing through that covert green. Looks round to learn the history. The dog is not of mountain breed;
From those abrupt and perilous rocks Its motions, too, are wild and shy;
The man had fallen-that place of fear! With something, as the shepherd thinks, At length upon the shepherd's mind Unusual in its cry:
It breaks, and all is clear: Nor is there any one in sight
He instantly recalled the name, All round, in hollow or on height;
And who he was, and whence he came; Nor shout nor whistle strikes his ear Remembered, too, the very day What is the creature doing here?
On which the traveller passed that way. It was a cove, a huge recess,
But here a wonder, for whose sake
A lasting monument of words
This wonder merits well: Far in the bosom of Helvellyn,
The dog, which still was hovering nigli, Remote from public road or dwelling, Repeating the same timid cry, Pathway, or cultivated land;
This dog had been, through three months' From trace of human foot or hand.
A dweller in that savage place! There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; Yes, proof was plain that since the day The crags repeat the raven's croak,
When this ill-fated traveller died, In symphony austere:
The dog had watched about the spot, Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud Or by his master's side: And mists that spread the flying shroud, How nourished there through that long time And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, He knows who gave that love sublime; That if it could would hurry past-
And gave that strength of feeling great, But that enormous barrier holds it fast. Above all human estimate.
THE LOST DAY.
Lost! lost! lost !
I feel all search is vain;
That gem of countless cost
Can ne'er be mine again.
I offer no reward
For till these heart-strings sover,
I know that Heaven's intrusted gift
Is reft away for ever.
But when the sea and land
Like burning scroll have fled,
I'll see it in His hand
Who judgeth quick and dead ;
And when of scathe and loss,
That man can ne'er repair,
What shall it answer there?
L. H. SIGOURNEY.
Till then we had not wept,
But well our gushing hearts might say, Looked o'er the tide-worn steep.
That there a mother slept !
For her pale arms a babe had pressed
With such a wreathing grasp, And bowed her noble mast.
Billows had dashed o'er that fond breast,
Yet not undone the clasp! The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven, Her very tresses had been flung And true ones died with her!
To wrap the fair child's form, We saw her mighty cable riven
Where still their wet, long streamers clung, Like floating gossamer:
All tangled by the storm.
And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene, Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn- Gleamed up the boy's dead face, And sadder things than these.
Like slumber, trustingly serene,
In melancholy grace. We saw her treasures cast away
Deep in her bosom lay his head, The rocks with pearl were sown;
With half-shut violet eye; And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray
He had known little of her dread,
Nought of her agony !
Oh, human love! whose yearning heart,
So stamps upon thy mortal part
Its passionate adieu !
There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not Not without strife he died !
The moaning of the sea !
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.
THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee;Their graves are severed far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
Where are those dreamers now?
One, 'midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream is laid-
Far in the cedar shade.
One sleeps where southern vines are dressed
Above the noble slain;
On a blood-red field of Spain.
Its leaves, by soft winds fanned;
The last of that bright band.
Beneath the same green tree;
Around one parent knee!
And cheered with song the hearth-
The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one
He lies where pearls lie deep; He was the loved of all, yet none
O'er his low bed may weep.
THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.
OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade
A dying woman lay;
A woful wail that day.
And leave us all alone.”
In a low sobbing moan.
And up she raised her head;
Will he not come?” she said.
'I will go with you, child,' he said;
Mother, he's here, hard by
Looked on with glistening eye.
Pressed close his bonny bay;
Than those stood there that day.
So, while the little maiden spoke,
Looked on with glistening eye
Preached-“ All is Vanity.”
They told me here--they told me there-He spoke of sinners' lost estate,
In Christ renewed-regenerate;
Of God's most blest decree,
Be merciful to me.” I told him how you dying lay,
He spoke of trouble, pain, and toil,
Endured but for a little while
In patience, faith, and love..-
Of happiness above.
So, though my tears were blinding me,
To come again to you;
And when I told him true,
Then-as the spirit ebbed away--
That peaceful it might pass;
Close round on the green grass.