But he pitied my soul - I awoke from my sleep, And he sav'd me in infinite love: A new birthday my Saviour then taught me to keep, For again I was born from above. And now I believe that the God of all peace LEGH RICHMOND. THE SUNBEAM. THOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall: Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles; Thou hast touch'd with glory his thousand isles; Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam, And gladden'd the sailor, like words from home. To the solemn depths of the forest shades, glow, Like fire-flies glance to the pools below. a vapour lay Folding their heights in its dark array: I look'd on the peasant's lowly cot- To the earth's wild places a guest thou art, Thou tak'st thro' the dim church-aisles thy way, And its pillars from twilight flash forth to day: And its high pale tombs, with their trophies old, Are bath'd in a flood as of molten gold. And thou turnest not from the humblest grave, Sunbeam of summer! oh! what is like thee, One thing is like thee to mortals given The faith touching all things with hues of heaven! MRS. HEMANS. BIRDS' NESTS. THE cavern-loving wren sequester'd seeks Of fragrant pines in solemn depth of shade, A lowly dwelling hid beneath a turf, Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof: Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays hedge Within the The sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs. The barn, With eaves o'er-pendant, holds the chattering tribe. Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse, The white owl seeks some antique ruin'd wall, Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreath'd twigs, And sidelong forms her cautious door: she dreads The talon'd kite or pouncing hawk; savage Herself. With craft, suspicion ever dwells. BIDLAKE. MORAL OF FLOWERS. FLOWERS of the field, how meet ye seem, Blooming so fair in morning's beam, Passing at eve away; Teach this, and oh! though brief your reign, Go, form a monitory wreath For youth's unthinking brow; But whilst to thoughtless ones and gay And death and life betoken well. Go, then, where wrapt in fear and gloom - And deck with emblematic bloom And softly speak, nor speak in vain, And Of your long sleep and broken chain; say, that He, who from the dust Will surely visit those who trust Will mark where sleeps their peaceful clay, And roll, ere long, the stone away. 1 Death. MRS. W. HEY. FORBEARANCE. WITH mild complacency to hear, appear; Which mars the story you could mend: MRS. H. MORE. THE WIDOW'S MITE. AMID the pompous crowd Of rich adorers, came a humble form; To goodness: so He bless'd the widow's mite Unnotic'd, like the trodden flowers which fall R. MONTGOMERY. |