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Draw tight your bow, my cunning man, Man tramples on his brother man,
Your straightest arrow take;

But God is ever good.”
For know, yon apple is your mark,
Your liberty the stake."

For, sure enough, the arrow went

As by an angel guided;-
A mingled noise of wrath and grief In pieces two, beneath the tree,
Was heard among the crowd;

The apple fell divided!
The men they muttered curses deep,
The women wept aloud.

'Twas bravely done,” the ruler said,

“My plighted word I keep; Full fifty paces from his child,

'Twas bravely done by sire and son His cross-bow in his hand,

Go home and feed your sheep."
With lip compressed, and flashing eye,
Tell firmly took his stand.

No thanks I give thee for thy boon,"

The peasant coldly said : Sure, full enough of pain and woe

To God alone my praise is due,
This crowded earth has been;

And duly shall be paid.
But never since the curse began,
So sad a sight was seen.

Yet know, proud man, thy fate was near:

Had I but missed my aim, The noble boy stood bravely up,

Not unavenged my child had died, His cheek unblanched with fear :

Thy parting hour the same! “Shoot straight,” he cried; "thine aim is sure,

For, see! a second shaft was here, It will not fail thee here."

If harm my boy befell :

Now go, and bless the heavenly powers Heaven bless thee now," the parent said, My first has sped so well."

Thy courage shames me quite;” Then to his ear the shaft he drew,

God helped the right, God spared the And watched its whizzing flight.


He brings the proud to shame; 'Tis done! 'tis done!—the child is safe !” He guards the weak against the strong, Shouted the multitude;

Praise to his holy name!




TAE cold winds swept the mountain's She stripped her mantle from her breast, height,

And bared her bosom to the storm, And pathless was the dreary wild; And round the child she wrapped the And 'mid the cheerless hours of night

vest, A mother wandered with her child:

And smiled to think her babe was warm. As through the drifting snow she pressed, With one cold kiss one tear she shed, The babe was sleeping on her breast. And sunk upon her snowy bed.

And colder still the winds did blow,

And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifting snow:
Her limbs were chilled, her strength was

gone :
“O God !” she cried, in accents wild,
If I must perish, save my child !”

At dawn a traveller passed by,

And saw her 'neath a snowy veil;
The frost of death was in her eye,
Her cheek was cold, and hard, and

pale :
He moved the robe from off the child
The babe looked up and sweetly smiled!



Never give up! it is wiser and better Never give up! for the wisest is boldest,

Always to hope than once to despair ! Knowing that Providence mingles the Fling off the load of Doubt's heavy fetter,

cup; And break the dark spell of tyrannical And of all maxims the best, as the oldest, Care.

Is the true watchword of Never give up! Never give up! or the burden may sink you;

Providence kindly has mingled the cup, Never give up! though the grapeshot may And in all trials or troubles, bethink you,

rattle, The watchword of life must be, Never Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst: give up!

Stand like a rock, and the storm or the

battle Never give up! there are chances and Little shall harm you, though doing the changes

worst. Helping the hopeful a hundred to one, Never give up! if adversity presses, And through the chaos High Wisdom Providence wisely has mingled the cup; arranges

And the best counsel in all your distresses, Ever success--if you'll only hope on. Is the stout watchword of Never give up!


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CORONACH. He is gone on the mountain,

The autumn winds rushing, He is lost to the forest,

Waft the leaves that are searest, Like a summer-dried fountain,

But our flower was in flushing
When our need was the sorest.

When blighting was nearest.
The font, re-appearing,
From the rain-drops shall borrow,

Fleet foot on the correi,
But to us comes no cheering,

Sage counsel in cumber, То

Red hand in the foray, t

Bow sound is the The


I went one night to my father's house-- Again I will go to my father's house,
Went home to the dear ones all,

Go home to the dear ones all,
And softly I opened the garden gate, And sadly I'll open the garden gate,
And softly the door of the hall :

And sadly the door of the hall : My mother came out to meet her son, I shall meet my mother, but never more

She kissed me, and then she sighed, With her darling by her side; And her head fell on my neck, and she wept But she'll kiss me, and sigh and weep For the little boy that died.


For the little boy that died.
And when I gazed on his innocent face,
As still and cold he lay,

I shall miss him when the flowers come And thought what a lovely child he had In the garden where he played; been,

I shall miss him more by the fireside, And how soon he must decay;

When the flowers have all decayed : O Death ! thou lovest the beautiful,” I shall see his toys and his empty chair, In the woe of my spirit I cried;

And the horse he used to ride; For sparkled the eyes, and the forehead And they will speak with a silent speech, was fair,

of the little boy that died. Of the little boy that died.


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It seemed at first a mournful sight

That little room to me revealed :
A child whose eyes were closed in night,

Her lips in hopeless silence sealed.
Chained down by weakness to her bed--

Her tender frame by suffering wrung-
A bitter lot is thine," I said;

A heavy cross for one so young."
But, oh! far otherwise I mused,

When once I saw, with glad surprise, How this meek lamb, so sorely bruised,

To the Good Shepherd raised her eyes. How patient on His breast she lay,

And kissed the hand of chastening love; And bless'd the dark and rugged way

That led her to His fold above!

Sweet child! so greatly tried and blest,

Thou soon wilt lay thy burden down; The rougher road, the happier rest;

The heavier cross, the brighter crown.
For days of darkness yet to thee

Shall everlasting light be given;
And the first face that thou shalt see

Will be thy Saviour's face in heaven.
That fettered tongue, here mute so long,

Shall burst its bonds in sudden praise; Its first glad words will be the song (raise.

Which round the throne the ransomed
From sufferings freed, and free from sin,

And in unclouded light to shine,-
If faith can such a triumph win,
Sweet child, a blessed lot is thine!


LITTLE shoes and stockings!

As the mother nurses,
What a tale ye speak,

From the world apart,
Of the swollen eyelid,

Leaning on the arrow
And the tear-wet cheek;

That has pierced her heart.
Of the nightly vigil,

Head of flaxen ringlets;
And the daily prayer;

Eyes of heaven's blue;
Of the buried darling,

Parted mouth-a rosebud--
Present everywhere!

Pearls, just peeping througlı ;
Brightly plaided stockings,

Soft arms, softly twining
Of the finest wool;

Round her neck at eve;
Rounded feet and dainty,

Little shoes and stockings,
Each a stocking full;

These the dreams ye weavo.
Tiny shoes of crimson,

Weave her yet another,
Shoes that nevermore

Of the world of bliss,-
Will awaken echoes

Let the stricken mother
From the toy-strewn floor.

Turn away from this:
Not the wealth of Indies

Bid her dream believing
Could your worth eclipse,

Little feet await,
Priceless little treasures,

Watching for her passing
Pressed to whitened lips;

Through the pearly gate.



A MAIDEN walked at eventide

Beside a clear and placid stream, And smiled, as in its depths she saw

A trembling star's reflected beam. She smiled until the beam was lost,

As 'cross the sky a cloud was driven; And then she sighed, and then forgot

The star was shining still in heaven.

A MOTHER sat beside life's stream,

Watching a dying child at dawn, And smiled, as from its eye she caught

A hope that it might still live on.
She smiled until the eyelids closed,

But watched for breath until the even;
And then she wept, and then forgot
The child was living still in heaven.


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