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DROPPINGS 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 HEAET; 
 
 OCCASIONAL POEMS, 
 
 THOMAS MACKELLAR. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 SORIN & BALL, 311 MARKET STREET. 
 
 1844. 
 
'€k**^***^ g*£ mam £^ 
 
 T5 a a H 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by 
 
 Thomas Mackelxar, 
 in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Eastern 
 
 District of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Merrihew & Thompson, Printers, 
 No. 7 Carter's Alley, 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 Deep in my heart a spring is babbling up 
 
 Of thoughts most sweet and pleasant unto me ; 
 
 And when I dip and proffer thee a cup, 
 Wilt thou, untasted, cast it far from thee] 
 
 T. McK. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Singing on the Way 9 
 
 Heart Longings, 12 
 
 The Sleeping Wife, 13 
 
 Snow-storm Sonnet, 15 
 
 To the Comet, 16 
 
 Love for Little Things, 18 
 
 The Wane of Life, . 19 
 
 To J. R. Chandler, Esq 21 
 
 Hymn for Young Men's Missionary Society, . . 22 
 
 Drawyers Church, Delaware, 24 
 
 The Comet of 1843, 25 
 
 The Sick Man's Sonnet, . . . . , .26 
 
 The Sycamore Stump, 27 
 
 The Path of Life, 28 
 
 The Old Blind Voter of Pine Ward, .... 29 
 
 September, 30 
 
 On the late Rev. J. Well wood Scott, . . .31 
 
 Noon in the Country, 32 
 
 Earth's Noblest Men, 33 
 
 1* 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Happy Childhood, 34 
 
 The Two Flowers, 35 
 
 Rainy April, 37 
 
 « Go ! teach all nations," 38 
 
 "Thirty," 41 
 
 The Sycamore Bough, . . . . . .42 
 
 The Babe asleep, 44 
 
 Pilgrim ! whither bound 1 45 
 
 Celestial Frolics, 47 
 
 Our Babe, 49 
 
 The Father becoming blind, 50 
 
 Indian Summer, 53 
 
 The Public Park, 56 
 
 Thoughts on my Lot, 57 
 
 New York, 60 
 
 The Tempest stilled, 62 
 
 The Careless Sunday-school Teacher, ... 64 
 
 The Brotherhood of Man, ..... 67 
 
 Early Day, . 68 
 
 The Pine Street Church, . . . . . 71 
 
 The Orphan's Tale, 73 
 
 My Mother knelt in Prayer, 75 
 
 The Poet's Mission . .77 
 
 The Two Worshippers, 78 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 Page 
 
 Man's Stewardship, 81 
 
 Jesus in Gethsemane, 82 
 
 October's coming, ........ 84 
 
 Beth-el, 85 
 
 Horticultural Exhibition, 87 
 
 In memory of my little friend William Wells Thompson 88 
 
 The Poor Widow, 90 
 
 Eternity, 91 
 
 The Printer, . 94 
 
 The Sabbath has come, 95 
 
 Jonah and the Ninevites, 97 
 
 Tobacco's Victim, .101 
 
 To a Rat, caught in our Printing Office, . . .102 
 
 The Old Man's Hymn, 103 
 
 The Law of the Lips, 105 
 
 On the Death of James G. Eaton, .... 107 
 
 « He giveth his beloved sleep," 109 
 
 Unceasing Prayer, Ill 
 
 In honour of the gallant Troop, . . . .112 
 
 To L. Johnson, Esq 116 
 
 Enthusiasm, 117 
 
 Loneliness, . 120 
 
 The Deathless Smile, . . . . . .121 
 
 The Great Day, 123 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Father to his Family, 134 
 
 The Poet's Visiter, 126 
 
 Juvenile Hymn, 127 
 
 My Father blessed me, 129 
 
 Remember the Poor! 130 
 
 The Hymns my Mother sung, 132 
 
 The Drunken Mother's Child, 133 
 
 On the Death of little David White Culver, . . 136 
 
 The Dying Man, 137 
 
 The Wounded Bird, 140 
 
 On hearing a Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Ely, . . J 
 
 The Deaf, . . 
 
 Time Flies, 
 
DROPPINGS FROM THE HEART. 
 
 SINGING ON THE WAY. 
 
 Far distant from my Father's house 
 
 I would no longer stay; 
 But gird my soul and hasten on, 
 
 And sing upon the way ! 
 And sing! and sing! 
 
 And sing upon my way ! 
 
 The skies are dark, the thunders roll, 
 And lightnings round me play; 
 
 Let me but feel my Saviour near, 
 I'll sing upon the way ! 
 
 And sing ! and sing ! 
 And sing upon my way! 
 
10 SINGING ON THE WAY. 
 
 The night is long and drear, I cry; 
 
 O when will come the day? 
 I see the morning-star arise, 
 
 And sing upon the way! 
 And sing ! and sing ! 
 
 And sing upon my way! 
 
 When care and sickness bow my frame, 
 
 And all my powers decay, 
 I'll ask Him for His promised grace, 
 
 And sing upon the way! 
 And sing ! and sing ! 
 
 And sing upon my way! 
 
 He'll not forsake me when I'm old, 
 And weak, and blind, and gray ; 
 
 I'll lean upon his faithfulness, 
 And sing upon the way! 
 And sing ! and sing ! 
 And sing upon my way! 
 
SINGING ON THE WAY. \\ 
 
 When grace shall bear me home to God— 
 
 Disrobed of mortal clay, 
 I'll enter in the pearly gates, 
 
 And sing upon the way! 
 And sing! and sing 
 
 An everlasting day ! 
 
12 
 
 HEART LONGINGS. 
 
 I long to be beloved. My bosom yearns 
 
 Tow'rds all that's pure and beautiful; and fain 
 Would find a recompense of love again. 
 
 My pensive soul with ardent thirsting turns 
 To heaven and earth to seek its fill of love. — 
 Beyond the sun's domain, in realms above, 
 
 Abide full many whom I loved on earth; 
 My father liveth there, and there my mother ; 
 My sister there, and there my elder brother ; 
 
 (For coldness rests on our paternal hearth.) 
 Though kin and friends remain who love 
 me well, 
 
 I long to hear again my parents' voice — 
 
 With early loved ones fain would I rejoice, 
 And in God's presence re-united dwell. 
 
13 
 
 THE SLEEPING WIFE. 
 
 My wife! how calmly sleepest thou! 
 A perfect peace is on thy brow: 
 The heavens are clothed in robes of light, 
 And twinkling stars adorn the night; 
 But nature has for me no charms 
 While thou, my love ! art in mine arms ; 
 I'll watch, and mark each line of grace 
 That God hath drawn upon thy face. 
 
 My wife ! my wife ! thy bosom fair, 
 That heaves with breath more pure than air 
 Which dwells within the scented rose, 
 Is wrapped in deep and still repose ;— 
 So deep, that I erewhile did start, 
 And lay my hand upon thy heart, 
 In sudden fear that stealthy death 
 Had slyly robbed thee of thy breath. 
 2 
 
14 THE SLEEPING WIFE. 
 
 My wife ! my wife ! thy face now seems 
 To show the tenor of thy dreams : — 
 Methinks thy gentle spirit plays 
 Amid the scenes of earlier days; 
 Thy thoughts, perchance, now dwell on him 
 Whom most thou lov'st; or in the dim 
 Futurity now strive to peep, 
 With eager eye and daring sweep. 
 
 Sleep on ! sleep on ! my dreaming wife ! 
 Thou livest now another life, 
 With "beings filled, of fancy's birth; — 
 I will not call thee back to earth; 
 Sleep on until the car of morn 
 Above the eastern hills is borne ; 
 Then thou wilt wake again, and bless 
 My sight with living loveliness. 
 
15 
 
 SNOW-STORM SONNET. 
 
 Old father Winter's powdering o'er his hair; 
 
 Grim Vanity ! he's gray enough already, — - 
 
 For one so old, he ought to be more steady, 
 Yet he's as fickle as the springtime fair. 
 
 But yesterday, his was a balmy breath- 
 To-day he blusters, sending out his frost 
 
 To nip the buds, and smite with sudden death 
 The tender flowers that ventured forth to peep 
 If cruel Winter yet had fallen asleep : 
 
 The daring act their gentle life hath cost. 
 Thus died Louise, our tenderest summer flower, 
 
 So meek, so mild, so beauteous in her bloom ; 
 The blast of winter howled around her bower, 
 
 She shrank away, and hid within the tomb. 
 
16 
 
 TO THE COMET. 
 
 i. 
 
 From whence, and whither bound, celestial ranger ? 
 
 And what's thy mission in these lower skies? 
 
 Cam'st thou from spheres beyond our mortal 
 eyes, 
 Prognosticating some impending danger? 
 
 Or art thou on a tour of observation, 
 
 Before thou tak'st a permanent location? 
 In olden time, the world had gone demented, 
 
 To see thy tail long trailing 'neath the stars, 
 
 The sign of woes, of famines, and of jars 
 Among the nations, not to be prevented. 
 
 To them thou wert a spectacle of doom, 
 They feared thy train the earth would overwhelm ; 
 
 To us it seemeth merely as a broom, 
 Wherewith the angels sweep their starry realm. 
 
TO THE COMET. 17 
 
 But why so hasty in thy northern flight? 
 
 And where's thy head? why hide it, like a 
 maiden, 
 Behind a veil composed of threads of light 
 
 Abstracted from the sun, and richly laden 
 With gems and dyes of a celestial hue ? 
 
 Say, art thou journeying to the far-off place 
 
 Where chill Uranus runs his lonely race, 
 To learn how all thy brother comets do ? 
 
 Ethereal stranger! when wilt thou return 
 
 In silvery splendour in our skies to burn ? 
 Methinks the light of many eyes shall pale, 
 
 And sorrowing spirits find a welcome rest, 
 Ere thou again thy glittering form shall trail 
 
 Athwart the heavens, fleet Meteor of the West ! 
 
18 
 
 LOVE FOR LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 I know where bloom some violets in a bed 
 Half hidden in the grass ; and crowds go by 
 And see them not, unless some curious eye 
 
 Unto their hiding-place by chance is led. 
 I often pass that way, and look on them, 
 
 And love them more and more. I know not why 
 
 My heart doth love such humble things; but I 
 Esteem them more than robe or diadem 
 
 Of haughty kings. A babe, or bird, or flower 
 
 Hath o'er the soul a most despotic power. 
 The tearful eye of infancy oppressed— 
 
 A flower down-trodden by the foot of spite- 
 Awaken sighs of sorrow in the breast, 
 
 Or nerve the arm to vindicate their right. 
 
19 
 
 THE WANE OF LIFE. 
 
 i. 
 
 The world around me groweth gray and old: 
 
 My friends are dropping one by one away; 
 
 Some live in distant lands — some in the clay 
 Rest quietly, their mortal moments told. 
 
 The lightness of my youth is gone ; the veil 
 That hid from me the selfishness of man 
 Is lifted up, and I have learned to scan 
 
 The world with wary look. My cheek is pale ; 
 A dimness often stealeth o'er mine eye, 
 And many furrows on my forehead lie. 
 
 And when my children gather at my knee 
 To worship God and sing our morning psalm, 
 
 Their rising stature whispers unto me 
 My life is waning towards its evening calm, j 
 
20 THE WANE OF LIFE. 
 
 II. 
 
 What though it wane ! There is another dwell- 
 ing, 
 
 Not made with hands, eternal in the skies; 
 
 And there the ransomed spirit shall arise 
 And sing the hymns unnumbered hosts are 
 
 swelling. 
 And is it scripture truth, that " when man dies 
 
 His soul shall live ?" "Then will I wait the days 
 Of my appointed time; and I shall praise 
 The Lord, whom I shall see with mine own eyes 
 
 And not another." — Wake, my soul! for thou 
 
 Must do thy service in the present now. 
 Thy life's thy battling-time — the world thy field: 
 
 Thy Leader's voice resoundeth on the air; 
 The word of truth, be that thy chosen shield — 
 
 Thine only weapons, meekness, love and prayer. 
 
21 
 
 TO J. R. CHANDLER, ESQ. 
 
 Editor of the United States Gazette. 
 
 Grave potentate of scissors and the quill ! 
 
 Few days agone I sent thee sundry rhymes, 
 
 Befitting well the temper of the times, 
 And wrought with all the printer-poet's skill. 
 Though daily since, I pored thy lucid sheet — 
 
 The inner columns and the outer side — 
 Nor line, nor word, nor syllable did greet 
 
 My eager gaze or gratify my pride. 
 My curious wits are at a loss to know 
 Why thou hast used thine humble servant so.* 
 
 Deep in my heart a spring is bubbling up 
 Of thoughts most sweet and pleasant unto me, 
 
 And when I dip and proffer thee a cup, 
 Wilt thou, untasted, cast it far from thee? 
 
 * The Editor replied, that the MS. had been mislaid. 
 
22 
 
 HYMN 
 
 Written for the Young Men's Missionary Association of the Third 
 Presbyterian Church. 
 
 I. 
 
 God hath said it — and his promise 
 Standeth firmly as his throne- 
 Earth shall be a sure possession 
 Granted to his Son alone; 
 
 And the heathen 
 Jesus' gracious reign shall own. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Where a soul in guilt is lying, 
 There His gospel shall be sent; 
 
 Life and grace for wretches dying- 
 Balm for bosoms sad and rent : 
 
 News of mercy — 
 All shall hear the call, Repent! 
 
23 
 
 in. 
 
 God of mercy ! man is mourning ; 
 
 Darkness lieth on his road: 
 Shine, till light, his path adorning, 
 
 Leadeth him to thine abode, 
 And his spirit, 
 
 Sanctified, doth rest in God. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Words of precious promise, spoken 
 In thy faithfulness and love, 
 
 Never, never can be broken 
 
 While thou reignest King above ! 
 
 May thy servants 
 Now thy gracious kindness prove. 
 
24 
 
 DRAWYERS CHURCH, DELAWARE. 
 
 Adown in "brave old Delaware there stands 
 An ancient church amid a field of dead; 
 
 The trees implanted by its children's hands 
 Now cast deep shadows o'er their peaceful bed. 
 
 This church hath long borne witness for its God, 
 And He hath had a people here, to praise 
 His blessed name, for sevenscore years of days. 
 
 Four generations here have risen, and trod 
 Life's changeful path, since first the sod was 
 broken 
 
 To lay therein the corner-stone, and build 
 
 This temple which His Presence oft hath filled, 
 And where His grace hath set its sealing token. 
 
 Here reign, our God ! till time shall fade away 
 
 Into eternity, like night in morning's ray. 
 
25 
 
 THE COMET. 
 
 Low in the west — the early night begun — 
 
 A silvery streak appeareth in the air; 
 
 'Tis neither star nor planet; but some fair 
 Attendant at the palace of the sun. 
 
 It shineth clearly when the deeper night 
 Pervades the skies, and all the stars appear 
 Upon the ramparts of the upper sphere, 
 
 Like heavenly watchmen, with a torch of light. 
 Perchance it comes a messenger in haste, 
 
 On embassy from the extremest bound 
 Of some immense, immeasurable waste ; 
 
 Or it may be a chariot on its round, 
 Wherein the angels fly with news of grace 
 And loving-kindness to some distant race. 
 
26 
 
 THE SICK MAN'S SONNET. 
 
 Throw wide the shutter ! Let me see the light, 
 
 And feel the cooling breeze upon my face. 
 
 So long have I been hidden from my race, 
 Sweet nature's aspect seemeth doubly bright. 
 These many days I've lain upon this bed, 
 
 And turned my weary frame and sought for rest ; 
 
 But strong disease hath gnawed within my 
 breast, 
 And throbbing pangs have racked my fevered head. 
 
 The long, still nights have brought to me no 
 
 I've counted all the hours until the morn 
 Hath broken in the east; and, weak and worn, 
 I've prayed my Maker for a heart to weep. 
 The pitying Father hears the child's request — 
 My sins rebuked, He gives me perfect rest. 
 
27 
 
 THE SYCAMORE STUMP, 
 
 IN THIRD STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 Whene'er I walk in Third, near Willing's alley, 
 I mark the spot where that old buttonwood 
 Beyond the memory of man had stood 
 
 As proudly as if in Missouri's valley. 
 I mourn its fall, as of a pleasant friend 
 "Whose useful life hath met a hasty end. 
 
 The ruthless axe that hewed its silvered trunk 
 Cut loose the ties that, tendril-like, had hound 
 
 My love unto the tree ; and when it sunk, 
 My heart sunk with it, grieving, to the ground. 
 
 Old men are doubtless living, who, with me, 
 Bewail its doom;' — who, in its grateful shade, 
 
 Some threescore years ago, in boyish glee 
 With glad companions innocently played. 
 
28 
 
 THE PATH OF LIFE. 
 
 There is a pathway leading to the skies ; 
 
 'Tis strait and narrow, and the travellers climb 
 
 With songs and sighings towards its height 
 suhlime, 
 Where faith discerns a bright, immortal prize. 
 The aged man uplifts his failing eyes, 
 
 And presses on to reach his welcome rest ; 
 The man of sinew shouteth fearless cries 
 
 To animate the youthful pilgrim's breast; 
 And ever and anon the voice of song 
 Or prayer uprises from the heavenward throng. 
 
 Angelic watchers compass all the road, 
 And aid the travellers when their spirit faints ; 
 
 Till Death comes near to bear to Christ's abode 
 The holy hosts of His elected saints. 
 
29 
 
 THE OLD BLIND VOTER OF PINE WARD. 
 
 Make way, ye generous freemen! let him come 
 
 And cast his ballot into Freedom's urn! 
 His arm, perchance, once aided to strike dumb 
 
 His country's foes ; and still his feelings burn 
 With all their ancient warmth for liberty. 
 
 Approach, old man ! We honour thy thin 
 locks — 
 So white, so few — that tell thy lengthened age ! — 
 The time thou liv'dst hath been a glorious page 
 
 Of human history, and proudly mocks 
 All former times. It hath been given to thee 
 
 To see the virgin flag of Freedom flung 
 Abroad to float in every breeze; while he 
 
 Whose head in humble abjectness had hung, 
 Did heavenward lift his eye, and strike — and 
 dare be free ! 
 
 3* 
 
30 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 I bear a special love to sweet September: 
 Though people say partialities are wrong, 
 From youthful Janu'ry to old December 
 No month I love with love so true and strong. 
 The year hath got its richest ripeness then, 
 Like womanhood when in its perfect prime 
 And comeliness, before the hand of Time 
 Hath drawn a line upon the forehead with his 
 pen. 
 September's lap is full, and plenty reigns 
 To recompense the toiler for his pains 
 
 And feed the poor. A pleasant look hath she- 
 Such as the children love to see upon 
 Their mother's face, when they her smile have 
 won: 
 Let others choose their love — - September 
 pleases me. 
 
31 
 
 ON THE LATE REV. J. WELWOOD SCOTT. 
 
 A meek and holy man hath passed away ; 
 He lieth in the grave ; the crumbling coffin-dust 
 Is falling on the bosom of the just, 
 
 And mingling with his slowly mouldering clay. 
 His spirit lives in heaven; and there he finds 
 
 The loved and lost of other years; the dead 
 Still living, with immortal forms and minds, 
 
 And ornaments of grace on every head. 
 He hails the dwellers in the land above, 
 And joins with them in brotherhood of love. 
 
 Their spirits move in holiest accord — 
 
 He joys because his soul hath found its home — 
 They shout because another soul hath come — 
 
 And all unite in praises to the Lord. 
 
32 
 
 NOON IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 'Twas Sabbath noon. I sat me down upon 
 
 A fallen tree, beside a little rill 
 
 That ran along the bottom of the hill 
 And sang upon its way. The summer sun 
 
 Beamed hotly down ; but 'neath the shadowing 
 trees 
 
 My bosom felt the coolness of the breeze. 
 A noise and silence seemed by turns to reign; 
 
 The squirrels nimbly pranced along the fence, — 
 
 I harmed them not, nor feigned to scare them 
 thence — 
 (For who could put such merry things to pain ?) 
 
 Upon the ground came lightly down a bird— - 
 A frog was gravely sitting by the rill — 
 But far from me was thought or wish to kill — 
 
 And quietly I sat and saw, and quietly I heard. 
 
33 
 
 EARTH'S NOBLEST MEN. 
 
 Some men are born t' endure the toil and strife 
 
 And heavy burdens of the earth. They are 
 The pillars in the temple of this life, 
 
 Its strength and ornament; or, hidden far 
 Beneath, they form its firm foundation-stone. 
 In nobleness they stand distinct and lone, 
 
 Yet other men upon them lean, and fain 3 
 (Such selfishness in human bosoms swells) 
 
 Would lay on them the weight of their own pain. 
 Where greatness is, a patient spirit dwells; 
 
 They least complain who bear and suffer most: 
 In still and stern endurance they sustain 
 The ills whereof all weaker minds complain; 
 
 And in their blessed lot they stand, without a 
 sigh or boast. 
 
34 
 
 HAPPY CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The birthright of a child is love; and be 
 The portion his, without a stinted measure : 
 O may his bosom be brimfull of pleasure 
 
 Aflowing from affection's treasury. 
 A happy child is beautiful to me : 
 
 Let others praise the picture-limner's art, 
 Mine eye prefers the quick* reality, 
 
 Whose living beauty thrills upon my heart. 
 Then let him taste a little while that earth 
 Hath yet a cup of blessedness and mirth. 
 
 Soon will he learn the falseness of the world, — 
 The selfishness of man, — the hateful strife 
 Of men with men, of tyranny with life — 
 
 And find the temple of his hopes in utter ruins 
 hurled. 
 
 * " Quick and the dead."— Apostle's Creed. 
 
35 
 
 THE TWO FLOWEES. 
 
 A modest maiden on her breast 
 
 Two blooming flowerets wore; 
 The one a full and brilliant crest 
 
 And velvet surface bore. 
 The other was of modest white, 
 
 With tiny leaves and stem, 
 And seemed to shrink away from light— 
 
 A fairy's diadem. 
 
 The gaudier floweret withered soon- — 
 
 She cast it from her breast; 
 The valley-lily died at noon, 
 
 Yet still was it caressed. 
 The first, though in its hue so bright, 
 
 Was scentless in its bloom; 
 The little floweret clothed in white 
 
 Seemed made of rich perfume. 
 
36 THE TWO FLOWERS. 
 
 Thus from the soul that loves its God, 
 
 Rich odours ever rise; 
 And He will take it from the sod, 
 
 And plant it -in the skies. 
 But those who love Him not, shall meet 
 
 His angry, withering breath ; 
 And they shall leave on earth no sweet 
 
 Remembrance after death ! 
 
37 
 
 RAINY APRIL. 
 
 The wind still blows from the north-eastern 
 quarter, 
 Full charged with chills, and coughs, and 
 
 sniffling sneezes ! 
 Let poets sing of April's balmy breezes, 
 'Tis my belief that Spring's a wayward daughter, 
 Whose parentage is found in clouds and water; 
 Or she is Nature's washerwoman, splashing 
 The earth's old clothing — suds around her 
 dashing ! 
 At all events, I wish her reign was shorter. 
 The weathercock awhile turns to the north, 
 The long-imprison'd sun Gomes weeping forth, 
 His eyelids fringed with diamond drops; when,lo ! 
 The wind returns to its accustomed place, 
 And blows the clouds directly in his face, 
 And pours their watering-pot on man below ! 
 4 
 
"GO! TEACH ALL NATIONS!" 
 
 Matt, xxviii. 19. 
 
 Go, missionary, go! 
 
 Relying on thy God; 
 Nor grieve that thou must know 
 
 No more thy natal sod. 
 The pleasant joys resign 
 
 That nestle round thy hearth, 
 Close as the creeping vine 
 
 Clings to thy place of birth. 
 
 Go from thy mother's tomb; 
 
 Go from thy father's voice ; 
 Leave desolate thy home, 
 
 That pagans may rejoice. 
 Where nature sternly piles 
 
 Eternal hills of snow; 
 Or where she kindly smiles 
 
 In peaceful beauty, go ! 
 
GO, TEACH ALL NATIONS'. 39 
 
 Go where the sun, in wrath, 
 
 Moves o'er the blasted land, 
 And marks his dreadful path 
 
 By heaps of fiery sand. 
 Go to the isles afar 
 
 That beautifully lie 
 Upon the seas, like stars 
 
 Set in a nether sky. 
 
 Go, where the holy name 
 
 Of Jesus is unknown; 
 Where, dead to truth and shame, 
 
 Man loves himself alone ! 
 Go ! value not thy life ! 
 
 Aim for the heavenly crown; 
 And in the weary strife, 
 
 Ne'er lay thy weapons down. 
 
 In faith still battle on; 
 
 Intently fix thine eye 
 Upon the mark, and won 
 
 Shall be the victory. 
 
40 GO, TEACH ALL NATIONS! 
 
 Toil on! cease not thy pains, 
 Though unknown, uncaressed 
 
 By men; — for thee remains 
 An everlasting rest. 
 
41 
 
 "THIRTY." 
 
 "At thirty wise, or never!" So 'tis said; 
 
 How wisely said, the poet sayeth not: 
 
 I'm. thirty now, yet scarce am I a jot 
 More grave than when less years sat on my head. 
 But life is not so "beautiful as then; 
 
 Its opening scene was lovely to my view, — 
 Then earth was heavenly, and the race of men 
 
 I deem'd its angels — while the scene was new. 
 I'm wiser now, or better taught — I've found 
 The world to be a sin-polluted ground; 
 
 Man crushes man ; God's image lies in chains ; 
 And Pride looks down from her blasphemous throne: 
 
 Unpitied Misery weeps amid her pains, 
 While few indeed are they who live like Christ 
 alone ! 
 
 August 12, 1842. 
 
42 
 
 THE SYCAMORE BOUGH. 
 
 Upon an ancient sycamore 
 
 A noble bough there grew, 
 And fostered myriads of leaves 
 
 That hid itself from view. 
 When winter came with angry breath, 
 
 The bough was brown and bare; 
 Gone were the summer-hearted leaves 
 
 That once were nurtured there. 
 
 Thus with vain man. In summer days 
 
 The world around him clings; 
 It guiles his heart, and o'er his faults 
 
 A leafy mantle flings ; 
 It blinds him, till the bitter day 
 
 Of pain and death comes on, — 
 And leaves him, then, to bear his woes 
 
 Unaided and alone. 
 
THE SYCAMORE BOUGH. 43 
 
 Not so the lowly man who walks 
 
 The path that Jesus trod,— 
 Who daily learns to die ; whose " life 
 
 Is hid with Christ in God." 
 The world between his soul and God 
 
 Can never intervene; 
 In joy or sorrow, life or death, 
 
 His hope is ever green. 
 
44 
 
 THE BABE ASLEEP. 
 
 The babe is sleeping. Hist! no footfall here 
 To jar the placid air. Cease, singing bird, 
 Thy melody; and, puss! no mewling word 
 
 To grate upon the little sleeper's ear. 
 
 How still she lies ! and see that dimple curl 
 
 Around her lip, as if some pleasant thought 
 
 Were in her heart, from heavenly angels caught! 
 God's blessing rest upon my baby-girl! 
 
 Were I to give my frolic fancy play, 
 I'd sing of her as some angelic sprite, 
 Who, wandering from her native home of light, 
 
 Fatigued, had fallen asleep upon the way; — 
 I'd fear to wake her, lest she'd plume her wings 
 And soar away from me and all sublunar things ! 
 
45 
 
 PILGRIM! WHITHER BOUND? 
 
 Pilgrim! pilgrim! whither bound? 
 
 Thy halting feet are weary; 
 Delay thy toilsome pilgrimage, 
 Make this thy welcome resting-stage, 
 
 For, lo, thy path is dreary! 
 
 Tempter! tempter! flee away! 
 
 Entice me not to turning; 
 Oh, what care I how drear the path? 
 I haste to 'scape the coming wrath, 
 
 The everlasting burning. 
 
 Pilgrim! pilgrim! why this haste? 
 
 The world is bright before thee ; 
 Its honours are at thy command, — 
 Its joys but wait thy beckoning hand 
 
 To fling their sweetness o'er thee. 
 
46 pilgrim! whither bound? 
 
 Tempter! tempter! cease thy charms! 
 
 I hear the step "behind me; 
 The blood-avenger hastens on — 
 Oh, let me on my course begone, 
 
 Or death's cold hand will blind me. 
 
 Pilgrim! pilgrim! let thy fears 
 Die like the gale at even; 
 Thy soul is safe — thy God is good — 
 And He will ne'er require thy blood, 
 But lead thee safe to heaven. 
 
 Tempter! tempter! hence away! 
 
 I'll heed thy counsel never; 
 I cast myself in Jesus' arms; 
 Oh, Saviour, calm my soul's alarms— 
 
 I'm thine — I'm thine for ever. 
 
47 
 
 CELESTIAL FROLICS. 
 
 The sun had put his night-cap on, 
 And covered o'er his head, 
 
 When countless stars appeared amid 
 The curtains round his bed. 
 
 The moon arose, most motherly, 
 
 To take a quiet peep 
 How all the stars behaved while he 
 
 Her sovereign was asleep. 
 
 She saw them wink their silvery eyes, 
 
 As if in roguish play; 
 Though silent all, to her they seemed 
 
 As if they'd much to say. 
 
 So, lest their winking should disturb 
 The sleeping king of light, 
 
 She rose so high that her mild eye 
 Could keep them all in sight. 
 
48 CELESTIAL FROLICS. 
 
 The stars, abashed, stole softly back, 
 And looked demure and prim; 
 
 Until the moon began to nod — 
 Her eyes becoming dim. 
 
 Then sleepily she sought her home, 
 That's somewhere — who knows where? 
 
 But as she went, the playful stars 
 Commenced their twinkling glare. 
 
 And when the moon was fairly gone, 
 
 The imps with silvery eyes 
 Had so much fun it woke the sun, 
 
 And he began to rise! 
 
 He rose in glory ! — from his eyes- 
 Sprang forth a new-born day; 
 
 Before whose brightness all the stars 
 Ran hastily away. 
 
OUR BABE. 
 
 We have at home a little babe. Her eyes 
 Are blue and beautiful, and flash out gleams 
 Of diamond light, like that which brightly 
 beams 
 
 On stilly summer nights from starlit skies. 
 
 Her cheeks are tinted with the blushing dyes 
 Which Heaven — so wisely bountiful — bestows 
 In virgin freshness on the modest rose. 
 
 When, worn and sad, I seek the spot where 
 lies 
 My lovely all — that infant's budding charms, 
 As she disports within Eliza's arms, 
 
 Dispel my sadness, and her winning wiles 
 
 And crowing shouts provoke unwitting smiles, 
 Till every care is from my soul beguiled: — 
 Blest is the man who loves a little child ! 
 
 5 
 
50 
 
 THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 
 
 Mine eyes are darkening, and their sight 
 
 Grows dimmer day by day; 
 The shadows of a mortal night 
 
 Are falling on my way. 
 
 The fainter stars no more I see, 
 The bright ones dimly gleam, 
 
 As if thin vapours fitfully 
 
 Obscured their trembling beam. 
 
 The angels of my heaven on earth — 
 
 My children in my home — 
 Oft leave their plays and cheerful mirth/ 
 
 And to my knee-side come: 
 
 "Sir, I am Lily— Harry's here — 
 You thought that I were he!" 
 
THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 51 
 
 Says one, with many a falling tear, 
 "Dear Father! can't you see?" 
 
 I answer not — how can I speak? 
 
 I lift them on my knee; 
 From mother they an answer seek, 
 
 But she weeps bitterly, 
 
 And gazes in my fading eyes, 
 
 As if she fain would find 
 Some grounds for unbelief, and cries, 
 
 "No — no— he is not blind." 
 
 I have not come to manhood's prime 
 
 Or vigour of man's age, 
 And must I be before my time 
 
 Denied bright nature's page? 
 
 O Thou! who wast a Friend to me 
 
 When I was left alone-— 
 An orphan youth — all friendlessly 
 
 On love and labour thrown: 
 
52 THE FATHER BECOMING BLIND. 
 
 Be gracious in my deep despair; 
 
 To her and these be kind; 
 A bitter lot is theirs to bear 
 
 Whose father's poor and blind. 
 
53 
 
 INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 These days of balmy breathings say 
 
 The spirit of the south 
 Is winging hitherward her way, 
 
 Sweets dropping from her mouth: 
 Her presence field and forest fills, 
 While sweetly sing the running rills. 
 
 The brilliant leaves adorn the trees,— 
 Within whose cooling shade 
 
 The aged men inhaled the breeze, 
 And many an urchin played ; — 
 
 The trees whose dying loveliness 
 
 Is brighter than their summer dress. 
 
 The boughs are tenantless of birds ; 
 The squirrel's chirp is heard 
 
54 INDIAN SUMMER. 
 
 Where concerts of melodious words 
 
 The woods and orchards stirr'd; 
 Light-hearted warblers! wise betimes, 
 They've hied away to sunnier climes. 
 
 The sun, emitting modest rays, 
 
 Hastes early to the west, 
 'And bursts into a golden blaze 
 
 Just as he dips his crest, 
 And bidsj our land a long good-bye 
 And speeds to light the western sky. 
 
 As one beloved expiring lies, 
 
 And lifts her eye a while 
 To give love's token ere she dies, 
 
 And smiles a last sweet smile, 
 That e'er shall bide within the cell 
 Where memory's holiest treasures dwell,- 
 
 Thus Summer, as she dies away, 
 Looks on the earth again, 
 
INDIAN SUMMER. 55 
 
 And bids her shadows softly stray 
 
 Amid the homes of men— 
 To bless them with her parting breath, 
 And reconcile them to her death. 
 
56 
 
 THE PUBLIC PARK. 
 
 I love the spot where God's great trees have 
 room 
 
 To spread their branches far on every side, 
 
 And lift their tops in pristine forest-pride 
 As in their own domain, and bud and bloom 
 
 In vast variety ; while round their roots 
 The grassy spires the unctuous mould o'er- 
 
 spread, 
 And fragrant clover shows its honied head, 
 
 Or buttercup or violet upward shoots. 
 Awake from slumber, drowsy dreamer! wake! 
 
 Inhale the healthful breathings of the sod; 
 Night's sickly bonds from thy dull being shake, 
 
 And while the birds are piping praise to God, 
 Lift up thy heart — in gladness lift thy voice- 
 When nature sings, then let thy soul rejoice. 
 
57 
 
 THOUGHTS ON IY LOT. 
 
 No stores have I of worldly wealth, 
 But God hath given me cheerful health; 
 No diamonds in my coffers shine, 
 But a true loving wife is mine; 
 No jewels dangle from her ear, 
 But at her side our babes appear, 
 Whose cheeks of health and eyes of life 
 Are with a sparkling beauty rife. 
 
 Though I no parents' care have known 
 Since boyhood's years, yet God hath strown 
 His blessings o'er me constantly, 
 And father, mother been to me ; 
 And when I've needed daily bread, 
 His providence my mouth hath fed; 
 And He hath been about my way, 
 And warmed and clothed me every day. 
 
58 THOUGHTS ON MY LOT. 
 
 And I have sisters young and fair, 
 And brothers blest with virtues rare, 
 Whose hearts are generously impressed, 
 And each one truly loves the rest: 
 True friends have I, whose sympathy 
 Is like a Sabbath eve to me; — 
 And when I see a kindly face, 
 I mark therein peculiar grace. 
 
 Proud honours crowd around me not ; 
 Yet when in some secluded spot 
 I strike my simple muse's string, 
 And die to every care, and sing 
 The thoughts that rise within my soul, 
 And thrill my mind beyond control, — 
 What then to me are honours worth? — 
 My soul is higher than this earth! 
 
 But more than this ! — When Faith doth ope 
 Her light upon mine eyes, and Hope 
 Assures me that my soul is built 
 On Him whose blood for man was spilt, — 
 
THOUGHTS ON MY LOT. 59 
 
 When humbly at His feet I lie, 
 And feel I'm less than vanity, 
 What then is earth to me? — Tis dross! 
 'Tis hidden from me by the cross ! 
 
 My God! sustain my strength, and teach 
 My faltering spirit how to reach 
 Unto thy throne of love, and see 
 The unnumbered ransomed saints there be, 
 Who, clad in robes of spotless white, 
 Behold thy face in perfect light, 
 And marvel at the wondrous grace 
 That lifted them to such a place ! 
 
 Then, surely, I'd love earth no more, 
 But thirstingly I'd pant to soar 
 To regions of celestial bliss. 
 And can I sin, my God! in this — 
 To long to feel Thee ever near, 
 Whene'er I weep to dry the tear? 
 To thy kind bosom fain I'd flee — 
 O Lord! my soul is sick for thee! 
 
60 
 
 NEW YORK! 
 
 New York — my home of love ! thou art enthroned 
 
 Upon the heaving billows; at thy feet 
 They roll submissively, — their sweetly-toned 
 
 And gentle swellings making music meet 
 For thee. Earth, ocean, air, their tribute pay 
 
 To thee, and dwellers in far distant lands, 
 Lured by thy fame, steal from their homes away, 
 And over lands and briny oceans stray, 
 
 To mark how beautiful thy queenly city stands ! 
 
 New York! I love thy sons, beyond compare 
 
 Ennobled, — not by empty words of kings, 
 But by ennobling acts, by virtues rare, 
 
 And charities unbounded. These the things 
 That crown their names with honour. — Peerless all 
 
 Thy lovely daughters, warm with sympathy, 
 Swift to obey meek Mercy's moving call, 
 
 To heal the heart and dry the weeping eye, 
 And hush the plaint that fears no comforter is nigh. 
 
NEW YORK. 61 
 
 New York ! I found my birth in thee ; — in thee 
 
 I played while yet a child ; — in thee my tongue 
 Was taught to pray "beside my mother's knee, 
 
 And sing the hymns my mother sweetly sung. 
 In thee my father took my tender hand, 
 
 And led my early feet in virtue's ways, 
 And by example showed me how to stand 
 
 Unharmed in scenes where evil influence sways ; 
 In thee mine angel said, I trust, "Behold he 
 prays!" 
 
 New York! I love thee with a living love! 
 
 Thou day-star of my longing eyes — my all ! 
 The unsleeping yearnings of my bosom prove 
 
 How strongly thou dost every life-pulse thrall, 
 Beneath thy grassy sods the sacred clay 
 
 Of friend and parent thou dost safely keep ; 
 While far from thee 1 roam, to Heaven I pray 
 
 That I with them may in thy bosom sleep : — 
 And thus I soothe my soul, and smile when I 
 would weep. 
 
62 
 
 THE TEMPEST STILLED. 
 
 The tempest from its airy throne descended in 
 
 its might, 
 And hastened to the earth amid the dark and 
 
 solemn night; 
 It rushed in its mad fury o'er the face of Galilee, 
 When Jesus and his bosom friends were sailing 
 
 on the sea. 
 
 Night spread her mantle o'er the skies, and hid 
 
 the gentle light 
 That teaches mariners to steer their trembling 
 
 ships at night; — 
 The raging anger of the gale had quenched the 
 
 glimmering spark 
 Of courage in the breast of all His followers in 
 
 the bark. 
 
 Yet Jesys slept in quietude upon the tossing sea, 
 (For every holy one is safe wherever he may be;) 
 
THE TEMPEST STILLED. 63 
 
 And to him his disciples came, all wan with 
 
 trembling fear, 
 And said, "0 Lord, hast thou no care that we 
 
 should perish here?" 
 
 The Lord arose in majesty amid that scene of 
 
 dread, 
 And spake unto the tempest-gale that whistled 
 
 round his head; 
 He bade the driving winds be still, the waters 
 
 rage no more, — 
 And then the heavens became serene, the waves 
 
 slept on the shore. 
 
 O fully may the Christian trust the Arm that 
 
 can restrain 
 The whistling of the tempest-blast, the fury of 
 
 the main ; 
 For when the hour of judgment- wrath the day 
 
 of grace shall end, 
 Christ's mighty arm will succour all who on His 
 
 strength depend. 
 
64 
 
 THE CARELESS SUNDAY-SCHOOL TEACHER. 
 
 A teacher stood beside his class, 
 
 And mirth was in his eye ; 
 He smiled, and chatted gayly with 
 
 Another standing by — 
 Nor did it seem he ever thought 
 
 His scholars were to die, 
 And that their souls in bliss or wo 
 
 Must live eternally. 
 
 His half-filled class had straggled in 
 
 With careless unconcern ; 
 They came to pass a weary hour, 
 
 And not to humbly learn 
 The blessed words of life, with which 
 
 A teacher's heart should burn; 
 He showed to them no sympathy, 
 
 They felt none in return. 
 
THE CARELESS TEACHER. 65 
 
 No kindly greetings welcomed in 
 
 The loiterers by the way; 
 He asked them not with winning voice, 
 
 Why they did so delay? 
 He spoke not of the sin of those 
 
 Who break the Sabbath-day : 
 To him it were of small account 
 
 If they did come or stay ! 
 
 He carelessly took up the Book, 
 
 And with a lazy yawn, 
 When half the time had sped, began 
 
 The lesson of the morn; 
 And did more harm than men who dare 
 
 The Holy Book to scorn ! 
 Far better had his heartless task 
 
 Been utterly forborne. 
 
 He told them not that life is brief, 
 
 And that the tender flower, 
 Whose stalk is brittle, soonest breaks 
 
 Beneath the sudden shower : 
 
66 THE CARELESS TEACHER. 
 
 Nor did he warn them now to flee 
 
 To Jesus, lest the hour 
 Was nigh at hand when they should feel 
 
 Death's paralyzing power! 
 
 He told them not that they might come 
 
 And join the ransomed band, 
 Who, robed in holiness, before 
 
 The throne of God do stand — 
 If they would *turn from every sin, 
 
 And honour God's command: — 
 In judgment, will not Jesus Christ 
 
 Require this at his hand? 
 
 The hour is past ! the weary hour ! 
 
 He's glad his task is done : 
 Nor cares he that his Sabbath toil 
 
 No soul to Christ has won. 
 Ah ! foolish man ! his sands of life 
 
 Perchance are well-nigh run ; 
 How will he dare to meet that Eye 
 
 That dims the noonday sun ! 
 
67 
 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. 
 
 If any man must fall for me to rise, 
 Then seek I not to rise. Another's pain 
 I choose not for my good. A golden chain — 
 
 A robe of honour is too poor a prize 
 To tempt my hasty hand to do a wrong 
 
 Unto a fellow man. This life hath wo 
 
 Sufficient, wrought by man's satanic foe; 
 And who that hath a heart would dare prolong 
 
 Or add unto the sorrows of a soul 
 
 That seeks some healing balm to make it whole ? 
 My bosom owns the brotherhood of man ; 
 
 From God and truth a renegade is he 
 
 Who scorns a poor man in his poverty, 
 Or on his fellow lays his supercilious ban. 
 
68 
 
 EARLY DAY. 
 
 How slowly and majestically comes the morning 
 
 sun ! 
 His piercing rays begin to break through all the 
 
 vapours dun; 
 The morning-star grows paler, and the feebler 
 
 stars all hide, — 
 The splendour of the early day extinguishes 
 
 their pride. 
 
 See nature rise with crimson blushes from the 
 bed of night ! 
 
 How silently and gracefully she clothes herself 
 in light! 
 
 She sits in beauty like a bride, adorned with 
 healthful bloom, 
 
 And her pure breath pervades the air with deli- 
 cate perfume. 
 
EARLY DAY. 69 
 
 O cheerily, most cheerily the singing-birds 
 
 awake, 
 And joyously on every side their songs of praises 
 
 break ! 
 What soul can hear them piping thus at day^ 
 
 break's early hour, 
 And not be lifted up to God by love's attracting 
 
 power ? 
 
 An indistinct and humming noise now steals 
 
 along the air; 
 Mankind have left their slumberings, and for their 
 
 toils prepare; — 
 Some kneel and humbly pray to God, while 
 
 thousands go their way, 
 Without a blessing in their hearts, to pass a 
 
 prayerless day. 
 
 How soukrefreshing 'tis to pray before the cares 
 
 of life 
 Confuse and fill the busy mind with desolating 
 
 strife ; 
 
70 EARLY DAY. 
 
 How sweet to read the Holy Book and thus to 
 
 nerve the heart, 
 That it may bear unflinchingly and well discharge 
 
 its part. 
 
 Blest be the Lord Almighty for the cheering 
 
 morning light! 
 —If beautiful the golden sun when rising in his 
 
 might, 
 How glorious must be the Sun that rules the 
 
 realms above, 
 Through an eternal day of light, of glory, and 
 
 of love ! 
 
71 
 
 THE PINE STREET CHURCH. 
 
 I love thee well, old church! 
 
 Thou birth-home of my soul ! 
 In thee, I dare to hope, my name 
 
 Was set on mercy's scroll. 
 
 Thou standest pleasantly 
 
 Amid the ancient trees, 
 Whose gently-rustling leaves oft make 
 
 Sweet music in the breeze. 
 
 Thou art encompassed by 
 
 The bodies of thy dead, 
 Who seem to guard thee lovingly 
 
 While resting in their bed. 
 
 My heart was sadden'd, when 
 
 The rude, defacing blow 
 Brought all thine ancient ornaments 
 
 And antique fashions low. 
 
72 THE PINE STREET CHURCH. 
 
 I'm glad they spared thy walls, 
 That, three score years and ten, 
 
 Have echoed to the solemn tones 
 Of heaven-accepted men. 
 
 If never in thy courts 
 
 The organ's strains did roll, 
 
 Full often hath thy music been 
 The music of the soul ! 
 
 I feel a truant tear 
 
 Steal slowly down my cheek; 
 The grief my bosom deeply feels 
 
 My tongue can never speak. 
 
 Peace unto thee, old church! 
 
 Still, in thy modern dress, 
 May God abide within thy walls, 
 
 And all thy children bless! 
 
73 
 
 THE ORPHAN'S TALE. 
 
 My mother blessed me, yet so low 
 I scarce could hear her speak; 
 
 Her breath came heavily and slow, 
 And pallid was her cheek. 
 
 I sought to pray beside her bed, 
 
 My bosom filled with fear; 
 For something terrible and dread 
 
 I thought was coming near. 
 
 And while my mind was wandering, 
 
 I heard a trembling sigh, 
 As if an angel's downy wing 
 
 Was passing swiftly by. 
 
 I looked; — my mother's breath had ceased, 
 
 And motionless she lay; 
 Her hand I fearfully released, 
 
 'Twas stiff, and cold as clay ! — 
 
 7 
 
74 THE ORPHAN S TALE. 
 
 Those came who never knew her worth, 
 And placed her 'neath the sod; 
 
 So I'd no mother on the earth, 
 Nor father but my God. 
 
75 
 
 MY MOTHER KNELT IN PRAYER. 
 
 When, in my "boyhood's gladsome day, 
 
 My heart was light as air, 
 I wandered to a lonely room, 
 
 Where mother knelt in prayer. 
 
 Her hands were clasped in fervency, 
 Her lips gave forth no sound; 
 
 Yet, awe-struck, solemnly I felt 
 I stood on holy ground. 
 
 My mother, all entranced in prayer, 
 
 My presence heeded not; 
 And reverently I turned away 
 
 In silence from the spot. 
 
 My gentle mother never knew 
 
 That I had seen her pray 
 In secrecy; but I revered 
 
 Her doubly from that day. 
 
76 MY MOTHER KNELT IN PRAYER. 
 
 She died; and I, an orphan, since 
 Through many cares have strayed; 
 
 But God has kept me, and I feel 
 He heard her when she prayed. 
 
77 
 
 THE POET'S MISSION, 
 
 Each mortal being hath a mission here : — 
 
 'Tis mine to travel soberly along 
 
 The track of life, and sing, perchance, a song 
 That ringeth sweetly on some listening ear. 
 
 A fellow-traveller jostles me at times, 
 
 And scorns the music of my simple rhymes ; 
 But still I sing; for soon will come the day 
 
 When mental hunger will his breast annoy, 
 
 And love of gold and sensual things will cloy, — 
 And then he'll bow submissive to my sway. 
 
 My life is not an idle one. I sing 
 And work together. When my time is o'er, 
 
 My frame — like some old harp whose every 
 string 
 Is gone — will be worn-out, to labour here no 
 more. 
 
 7* 
 
78 
 
 THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 In the pride of his spirit, 
 
 The Pharisee came 
 To God's holy temple, 
 
 His deeds to proclaim; 
 And with high swelling hosom 
 
 And lip of disdain, 
 He eyed a poor brother 
 
 Whose heart beat with pain. 
 
 Thus spake he within him, 
 
 "O God, I thank thee 
 That I am not as sinful 
 
 As other men be, 
 Or unjust or oppressive 
 
 To my fellow man, 
 Or licentious, or even 
 
 As this publican. 
 
THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 79 
 
 " Twice a week do I fast, 
 
 And tithe all I possess :" 
 And then, all enwrapt 
 
 In his self-righteousness, 
 He complacently stood, 
 
 With himself satisfied, 
 Though a sinner more vile 
 
 Than a thousand beside. 
 
 But the publican stood 
 
 Afar off in his grief, 
 For he felt like a beggar 
 
 Who needed relief; 
 And he raised not his eyes, 
 
 And he saw not the scorn 
 Which the lip of the Pharisee 
 
 Proudly had worn. 
 
 But he smote on his bosom, 
 
 And deeply he sighed ; 
 As a sinner, for mercy, 
 
 Sweet mercy, he cried; 
 
80 THE TWO WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 It was all he could utter, 
 But God hears a sigh, 
 
 And listens, no matter 
 How feeble the cry. 
 
 Both unheard and unblest, 
 
 The proud Pharisee then 
 Returned to the pomp 
 
 Of his riches again ; 
 While the publican sinner, 
 
 Though loathed and oppressed, 
 Went joyfully homeward 
 
 With peace in his breast. 
 
81 
 
 MAN'S STEWARDSHIP. 
 
 All men are stewards of some gift or grace, 
 
 And must account to Him who lent the boon; 
 
 Some use it till old age — some, in the noon 
 Of life are called to stand before His face, 
 
 And give to Him their reckoning. None so 
 poor 
 But hath his work to do in peace and love, 
 Which, rightly done, shall in the world above 
 
 Place in his hand a palm that shall endure. 
 The field is wide — each labourer hath full room 
 
 To improve his talent, and secure the word 
 
 Of glad approval from his gracious Lord; 
 Some barren heart his love may bid to bloom, — 
 
 Some wretch may cease his weeping at his 
 voice, 
 
 And friend and friendless mutually rejoice. 
 
82 
 
 JESUS IN GETHSEMANE. 
 
 What scene of grief is this I see? — 
 The garden is Gethsemane — 
 'Tis night, and 'neath an olive tree 
 Is one upon his bended knee! 
 
 What agony and utter wo 
 His supplicating gestures show! 
 "Remove this sorrow from thy Son; 
 Yet not my will, but thine, be done!" 
 
 But not alone he now appears : 
 A shining being comes and cheers 
 His sinking soul beneath the weight 
 Of woes for human strength too great. 
 
 And now he prays more earnestly, 
 And mid his weeping agony, 
 He sweats, and with the briny flood, 
 There oozes out the drops of blood ! 
 
JESUS IN GETHSEMANE. 83 
 
 While thus he prays, his little band 
 Of chosen ones are nigh at hand ; 
 Amid the shades, so thick around, 
 Behold them prostrate on the ground! 
 
 Their Lord besought them, ere he prayed, 
 To watch and pray while there they stayed ; 
 But, ah ! while he did pray and weep, 
 Their heavy eyes were wrapt in sleep. 
 
 To his disciples twice came he 
 In vain, to share their sympathy, 
 And he returned to pray again, 
 And bear alone his weight of pain. 
 
 Ah! need I ask who He can be 
 That, low upon his bended knee, 
 Is bowed beneath the olive tree? 
 — 'Tis Jesus in Gethsemane ! 
 
84 
 
 OCTOBER'S COMING. 
 
 The prudish maid, October, 's coming down 
 From her sojourn far in the frigid north: 
 Of her approach the signs are putting forth ; 
 
 I hear the rustling of her russet gown; 
 Her voice rings shrilly on the frosty air, 
 
 The forest leaves are blushing red and brown, 
 
 And Nature wears a dark, forbidding frown, 
 Intensely vexed that she 's no longer fair. 
 
 October comes! her nose is sharp and blue, 
 Her temper changeable — at morning cold, 
 
 At»noon she tries to smile, then, like a shrew, 
 At night she 's lowering, turbulent, and bold. 
 
 Ah ! how unlike the pregnant months, that pour 
 
 In our rejoicing bosoms their abundant store! 
 
85 
 
 BETH-EL. 
 
 When evening, like a shadow pale, 
 O'er nature softly threw her veil, 
 The wandering Jacob, far from home, 
 Unto a certain place did come. 
 
 The exiled boy, forlorn and lone, 
 Reclined his temples on a stone, 
 And safely on the verdant sward 
 He slept, protected by the Lord. 
 
 He dreamed a holy, blessed dream: 
 As on a ladder, it did seem 
 That angels from the heavenly land 
 Went up and down, a shining band. 
 
 A gracious voice the sleeper heard; 
 
 A promise dwelt in every word — 
 
 That in his seed mankind should know 
 
 A Saviour from their guilt and wo. 
 8 
 
86 
 
 And in that still and lonely place, 
 The Lord vouchsafed, in sovereign grace, 
 To give him comfort from above, 
 And touch his heart with holy love. 
 
 The homeless lad, astonished, woke, 
 And in his wonder thus he spoke : 
 "The Lord is surely in this spot, 
 And I, unworthy, knew it not!" 
 
 " How awful is this place !" thought he ; 
 "'Tis as the house of God to me, — 
 The very gate of that bright land 
 From whence came all the shining band!" 
 
 As token he should not forget 
 God's graciousness, a stone he set; 
 He vowed a vow beside the stone, 
 Then quietly he journeyed on. 
 
87 
 
 HORTICULTURAL EXHIBITION. 
 
 Within old Eden's walls methinks I stand, 
 While sin is not, and innocence and love 
 Make earth the counterpart of realms ahove, 
 
 And streams of joy flow through the happy land. 
 The blooming beauties of earth's varied climes 
 
 Together here in sisterhood have met; 
 Their Latin names would spoil my English 
 rhymes, 
 
 Else, I might have them all in order set. 
 These fruits and flowers of every shape and 
 hue, 
 
 And bees, and honey in its virgin comb, 
 
 And peaches, pears, plums, grapes, and apples 
 too, 
 
 I fain could wish were safely at my home. 
 Oh that an Eve would wander near my seat, 
 And bid me rise, and freely pluck and eat! 
 
88 
 
 IN MEMORY OF MY LITTLE FRIEND, 
 
 WILLIAM WELLS THOMPSON, 
 
 Who died in his eighth year. 
 
 The gentle William weeps no more; 
 His varied sorrows all are o'er; 
 No inward struggles mark his brow 
 With signs of bitter suffering now. 
 
 A little time on earth he spent, 
 Till God for him his angel sent ; 
 And then on time he closed his eyes 
 To wake in glory in the skies. 
 
 Just like a bud of sunny spring, 
 That, spite of kindly fostering, 
 Is withered in its early bloom, 
 He sank in beauty to the tomb. 
 
WILLIAM WELLS THOMPSON. 89 
 
 He shines now brighter than a star, 
 In that sweet place where angels are ; 
 And there no sin nor care can come, 
 'Tis better than a mother's home. 
 
 Ah ! let his parents weep no more ! 
 Their gentle boy has gone before; 
 And when they're laid beneath the sod, 
 He'll wait to welcome them to God. 
 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 THE POOR WIDOW. 
 
 Luke xxi. 1—4. 
 
 A widow came, her gift was small, 
 Yet large for her — it was her all ! 
 Though meek in look and slow in gait, 
 She cast her offering with the great. 
 
 And He who sees not as men see 
 Regarded her complacently, 
 And thus his followers he addressed, 
 "Her gift is more than all the rest." 
 
 How could this be ? Two mites were naught 
 Beside the gold the rich men brought; 
 And yet the Lord was pleased to say, 
 That she had done much more than they! 
 
 The Saviour surely looked upon 
 Their motives when the deeds were done; 
 They gave from wealth and high degree, 
 But she from love and penury ! 
 
91 
 
 ETERNITY. 
 
 Once in ten thousand years remove 
 
 (Till all are borne away) 
 A single grain from every beach 
 
 Whereon the waters play — 
 
 From every island, mountain, plain, 
 
 Till earth be levelled low ; 
 And Ocean threatens with his waves 
 
 Her face to overflow. 
 
 Then rest ten thousand thousand years 
 
 By millions multiplied, 
 And then the weary work begin 
 
 To empty out the tide, 
 
 By one small drop each thousand years, 
 
 (Until the whole are dry,) 
 From every stream to which the earth 
 
 Affords a full supply;— 
 
92 
 
 From all the bays, and lakes, and seas, 
 
 Till water's nowhere found, 
 And parching dryness withers up 
 
 The desolated ground. 
 
 Then rest ten thousand thousand years 
 
 By millions multiplied, 
 Till all the substance of the earth 
 
 To powdered dust is dried: 
 
 Then bear away, each thousand years, 
 
 A particle so small 
 That eye cannot discern its size, 
 
 Till thou'st removed it all. 
 
 In all this fearful lapse of time, 
 
 Would it not seem to thee 
 That thou hadst measured out the length 
 
 Of an eternity ? 
 
 Yet, when thou hadst, with angel's strength. 
 This mighty labour done, 
 
93 
 
 Its end would be as far as when 
 Thy labour was begun ! 
 
 Eternity! eternity! — 
 
 My God ! thou know'st, alone, 
 The vastness of eternity — 
 
 Thine empire's corner-stone ! 
 
 My trembling soul ! art thou amazed 
 
 At this appalling view? 
 Be comforted — in Christ there is 
 
 Eternal mercy too! 
 
94 
 
 THE PRINTER. 
 
 A mental lamp hung out by life's wayside; 
 
 Unnoticed; yet his unpretending ray 
 
 Shines clearly on man's intellectual way, 
 And proves to pilgrims an unfailing guide. 
 He hath within a worthy sort of pride, 
 
 And knows his worth, though some allow it 
 not: 
 
 A heart and thinking mind above his lot 
 'Mong men are his. His coffers ill-supplied, 
 
 Yet want and virtue seldom ask in vain: 
 
 Nor is his life exempt from various pain; 
 Few days are his— the rose that freshly bloomed 
 
 On boyhood's cheek assumes the hue of death; 
 
 The oil of life within him soon consumed, 
 E'er two score years and ten he yields his vital 
 breath. 
 
95 
 
 THE SABBATH HAS COME. 
 
 Hallowed day of sacred rest, 
 Welcome, welcome to my breast: 
 Yearningly I've sighed to feel 
 Bliss thine hours alone reveal. 
 
 Aching temples, throb no more ; 
 Busy care, thy reign is o'er; 
 Troublous thoughts, flee far away 
 From this quiet resting-day. 
 
 Faith's anticipations, rise ! 
 Leap the barriers to the skies: 
 Upward soar, my soul, to Him 
 Loved by saint and seraphim. 
 
 Thankful praise, my lips employ- 
 Utter all my rapturous joy: — 
 Though o'er all things silence come, 
 Can a ransomed soul be dumb ? 
 
96 THE SABBATH HAS COME. 
 
 Priceless moments! rich and sweet- 
 Happy soul! at Jesus' feet, 
 Rest, oh rest ! — when He is near, 
 Lovingly, hast thou a fear? 
 
 Master ! lowly here I lie — 
 Look on me with gracious eye ; 
 Lay thy yoke of love on me, 
 Easy shall the burden be ! 
 
 Saviour! may thy Sabbaths come 
 Laden with the hope of home: 
 On the day thy grace has given, 
 Fit me for thyself and heaven. 
 
97 
 
 JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 
 
 When God commands, who disobey 
 Shall find his arm more strong than they ; 
 But they who turn at mercy's voice 
 Shall in his tender love rejoice. 
 
 God's ancient prophet thought to flee, 
 And took his passage o'er the sea: 
 He feared to tread in duty's path, 
 And sought to 'scape his Maker's wrath. 
 
 God caused the mighty winds to blow, 
 And dashed the vessel to and fro; 
 The waves across the frail ship swept, 
 And terror on the seamen crept. 
 
 They fell upon their bended knees, 
 And prayed unto their deities ; 
 9 
 
98 JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 
 
 But still the shrieking storm-wind blew, 
 And terribly the vessel flew ! 
 
 Though by the raging tempest swept, 
 Behold the hardened prophet slept! 
 " Arise, thou sleeper!" loud they say, 
 " Call on thy God ! — arise, and pray." 
 
 The prophet felt that God was near, 
 And now confessed his guilty fear : 
 To still the waves raised by his sin, 
 He bade the seamen cast him in. 
 
 The Lord still loves his erring child, 
 Though Satan hath his soul beguiled: 
 He bade a dweller of the deep, 
 The disobedient prophet keep. 
 
 The prophet's soul within him died; 
 Repentant to the Lord he cried, 
 Who made the fish draw nigh to land, 
 And cast the prophet on the strand. 
 
JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 99 
 
 Obedient to Jehovah's will, 
 
 He hastes his duty to fulfil: 
 
 " Within three days, and Nineveh 
 
 Deep overwhelmed in death shall be !" 
 
 The monarch heard the prophet cry, — 
 His haughty soul was loth to die; — 
 And e'en the meanest soul was stirred, 
 When that portentous voice he heard. 
 
 All joy and gladness put away, 
 The city robed in sackcloth lay: 
 Yea, from the king beneath his throne, 
 Down to the beggar, grief was known. 
 
 The Lord — (I love his blessed Name ! 
 I often feel he's still the same) — 
 The Lord, who loves not to condemn, 
 Did turn his wrath away from them. 
 
 The prophet waited long to see 
 The vast destruction that should be ; 
 
100 JONAH AND THE NINEVITES. 
 
 And he was grieved that they were spared, 
 Though he, too, had God's mercy shared! 
 
 Ah! surely none would mercy feel, 
 If God should with his creatures deal 
 As they act often towards each other, 
 Though each man is to each a brother ! 
 
101 
 
 TOBACCO'S VICTIM. 
 
 His shrivelled skin, stretched o'er his brittle hones 
 And shrunken muscles, hound his frame to- 
 gether, 
 Till Death's keen blast offswept him like a 
 feather 
 That 's tempest-driven in the torrid zones. 
 
 He spat his life away; and left his heirs — 
 A hapless widow and her babes forlorn — 
 In widowhood and orphanage to mourn, 
 
 And sigh, and sink beneath a flood of cares. 
 If one should ask, where his remains repose? 
 
 Be this the answer— Everywhere around, 
 Where'er the smoke of his cigar arose, 
 
 There may his heart, his lungs, his all be found. 
 His wasted carcass fills a nameless tomb — 
 His soul has gone, uncalled, to meet its change- 
 less doom! 
 
 9* 
 
102 
 
 TO A RAT, CAUGHT IN OUR PRINTING OFFICE. 
 
 Thou long -tailed, ebon-eyed, nocturnal ranger! 
 
 What led thee hither 'mongthe types and cases? 
 
 Didst thou not know that running midnight races 
 O'er standing types is fraught with imm'nent 
 
 danger? 
 Did hunger lead thee? didst thou think to find 
 
 Some rich old cheese to fill thy hungry maw? 
 
 Vain hope! none but a literary jaw 
 Can masticate our cookery for the mind. 
 Perchance thou hast a literary taste, 
 
 A love for letters, and that sort of thing ; 
 
 But why, thou wire-tailed imp — thou vermin- 
 king ! 
 Didst thou but yesternight devour our paste, 
 
 And throw our types in pyramids of pi ? 
 
 Thy doom's decreed !— .here, Towser! at him 
 fly! 
 
103 
 
 THE OLD MAN'S HYMN. 
 
 The day is wearing fast away, 
 
 The night is coming on, 
 To end my mortal pilgrimage, 
 
 Begun at early dawn. 
 
 No voice of early friends I hear 
 
 Within my soul to reach ; 
 Another world hath round me grown, 
 
 Earth hath another speech. 
 
 Men look on me with wondering gaze, 
 As if their tongues would cry, 
 
 "Art thou still wandering here, old man? 
 'Tis time for thee to die." 
 
 And fain I am to die, when He 
 Who sent me here shall call : 
 
 I wait his gentle breath to cause 
 The ancient tree to fall. 
 
104 THE OLD MAN'S HYMN. 
 
 I long to lay my burden down, 
 And in earth's bosom rest, 
 
 As calmly as an infant sleeps 
 Upon its mother's breast. 
 
 Welcome, approaching shades of even, 
 By idling triflers shunned! 
 
 I see the immortal life of heaven, 
 And Christ, my God, beyond! 
 
105 
 
 THE LAW OF THE LIPS. 
 
 Speak kindly to thy fellow-man, 
 Lest he should die, while yet 
 
 Thy bitter accents wring his heart, 
 And make his eyelid wet. 
 
 Speak tenderly to him; for he 
 Hath many toils to bear ; 
 
 And he is weak, and often sighs — 
 As thou dost — under care. 
 
 Speak lovingly to him ; he is 
 A brother of thine own : 
 
 He well may claim thy sympathies 
 Who's bone of thine own bone. 
 
 Speak meekly to him; he may be 
 A holier man than thou, 
 
 And fitting it may be for thee 
 To him with reverence bow. 
 
106 THE LAW OF THE LIPS. 
 
 Speak solemnly to him ; for thou 
 And he must surely meet, 
 
 To make account for idle words, 
 Before the judgment-seat. 
 
 Speak faithfully to him ; thy word 
 May touch him deep within, 
 
 And save his erring soul from death, 
 And cover o'er his sin ! 
 
 Speak unto him as thou wouldst have 
 Thy brother speak to thee; 
 
 For thou art to all men akin, 
 Whoever thou mayst be. 
 
107 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF JAMES G. EATON, 
 
 Late a Ruling Elder in the Third Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia. 
 
 "A brother's gone!" we sadly cry, 
 
 While weeping o'er his dust : 
 "A brother's come!" the saints reply, 
 
 In mansions of the just. 
 Thus, while our souls are rent and riven, 
 Rejoicings thrill the hosts of heaven ! 
 
 His mortal eye in death is dim — 
 
 All silently he lies ; 
 His soul has soared to join the hymn 
 
 Of glory in the skies. 
 His body lying 'neath the sod, 
 His spirit satisfied with God! 
 
 His homestead has a silent floor ; 
 His loved ones softly tread; 
 
108 JAMES G. EATON. 
 
 They cannot feel that he's no more, 
 
 Although he's with the dead ! 
 He walks on Zion's holy hill, 
 Yet thinks of them, and loves them still. 
 
 He spoke of Zion's golden streets — 
 
 He gladly treads them now: 
 What wondrous sights and sounds he meets- 
 
 What glories crown his brow ! 
 What here he brightly dream'd of — there 
 He finds, beyond his dreamings, fair! 
 
 Sweet home! My brother, thou art there, 
 
 To strike a golden string! 
 What music floats upon the air 
 
 Where God supreme is King ! 
 Oh, may we hear those melting strains 
 That flood with bliss the heavenly plains! 
 
109 
 
 "HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP." 
 
 In fearful anguish once I lay, 
 
 And every tender string of life 
 Was rudely smitten by disease, 
 
 And nature quivered in the strife. 
 To God I looked for help the while — 
 
 The lingering moments seemed to creep, 
 And this sweet truth broke on my mind, 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep." 
 
 A gentle peace, like evening winds 
 In summer from the ocean's breast, 
 
 Moved o'er my sighing, sinking soul, 
 And soothed my murmuring griefs to rest; 
 
 And through that weary night of pain, 
 When it were manliness to weep, 
 
 My soul was comforted by this — 
 
 "He giveth his beloved sleep." 
 10 
 
110 HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP. 
 
 When prison'd long, my soul would fain 
 
 Leap through her fragile walls and flee- 
 But on the unmeasured life beyond, 
 
 She, halting, gazes tremblingly ; 
 Then could I simply trust in Him, 
 
 Whose arms his feeblest follower keep, 
 And close mine eyes, and say, in death, 
 
 " He giveth his beloved sleep !" 
 
Ill 
 
 UNCEASING PRAYER. 
 
 The voice of prayer upriseth constantly 
 From mortal man to his Redeemer, God : 
 Where'er the sun, in shining sandals shod, 
 
 Speeds o'er the busy land or lonely sea, 
 Some chosen ones, awakened by its light 
 From soothing dreams and slumbers of the night, 
 
 Leap from their couch, and bend to Him in prayer, 
 Adore His mercy, and confess their sins:— 
 
 The lip of one is scarcely silent, e'er 
 Some brother-worshipper his plaint begins :— • 
 
 The slave looks up with mute prayer in his eye ; 
 The worn and weary pray ; yea, everywhere 
 
 The Lord inclines to man's imploring cry ; 
 And earth is girdled alway with a zone of 
 prayer. 
 
112 
 
 IN HONOUR OF THE GALLANT TROOP, 
 
 Who victoriously put to flight a detachment of Sunday-school children, 
 at 10 minutes past 3 o'clock, (or thereabouts,) of the afternoon of the 
 23d of May, 1842. 
 
 In pomp and circumstance of war, 
 
 The valiant troopers came : 
 Each warrior had a shining sword — 
 
 Each nose was red as flame! 
 
 The children of the realm of peace 
 
 Were passing slow along, 
 When swiftly came these fighting men — 
 
 These warriors big and strong ! 
 
 Right valiantly they rode among 
 
 The frighten'd youthful band, 
 And one brave trooper drew his sword 
 
 And — held it in his hand ! 
 
THE &ALLANT TROOP. 113 
 
 The children hither, thither fled — 
 The women shrieked from fright; 
 
 The horsemen then rode proudly on 
 In their majestic might. 
 
 Oh, victory of victories ! 
 
 Oh, that I had a pen 
 Pluck' d from some goose or gander's wing, 
 
 To praise these noble men! 
 
 Methinks I see this selfsame troop 
 
 Drawn up in grim array 
 Before a little town, wherein 
 
 The children are at play: 
 
 Whose fathers far from home have gone 
 
 In freedom's cause to fight — 
 Whose mothers, in their evening prayers, 
 
 Remember them aright. 
 
 Methinks I see them bravely charge, 
 
 And smite the striplings down; 
 
 10* 
 
114 THE GALLANT TROO?. 
 
 Frighten the mothers into fits, 
 And sack the little town. 
 
 Methinks then news is brought to them 
 
 On rumour's flying car, 
 The fathers are returning fast 
 
 Victorious from afar! 
 
 Methinks this troop — this selfsame troop, 
 Grow pale and stiff as starch, 
 
 As helter skelter they begin 
 A retrograding march ! 
 
 Then wo betide the hapless frogs 
 
 Who dare to lift a croak; 
 Ye nimble imps, dive deep, or ye 
 
 Shall fall beneath their stroke ! 
 
 Puissant warriors— glorious corps ! 
 
 I've heard of such as ye — 
 But never thought these fading eyes 
 
 The glorious sight should see! 
 
THE GALLANT TROOP. 115 
 
 Old Milton tells of some, who, on 
 
 "The Alpine mountains cold, 
 The mother with her infant" down 
 
 The precipices rolPd! 
 
 But little dreamed I that the race 
 
 Had reached to modern days; 
 Eureka! let the nation shout 
 
 Their deep undying praise. 
 
116 
 
 TO L. JOHNSON, ESQ. 
 
 My constant friend, the years have swiftly sped, 
 
 Since, from mine early, sweetly-thought-of 
 home, 
 
 My trusting footsteps hitherward did roam 
 To seek from Heaven my meed of daily bread. 
 
 My bud of youth just opening into man, 
 And yet unfruitful, — thou didst wisely prune 
 My wild luxuriance; and my manhood's noon 
 
 Of sober thought approvest well thy plan. 
 When I review the eventful path I trod, 
 
 And mark His guiding providence to me, 
 I lift mine eyes in gratitude to God, 
 
 And turn a thought of thankfulness to thee. 
 Through all my course this lesson hath been 
 
 plain — 
 Who looks in faith to Heaven shall never look 
 in vain. 
 
117 
 
 ENTHUSIASM! 
 
 If, as I sunk beneath the wave, 
 
 Exhausted, helpless, wan, and cold, 
 One should plunge in, my life to save, 
 
 And with a vigorous grasp uphold 
 My head above the watery death, 
 
 And bear me safely to the shore, 
 And then should lose his vital breath, 
 
 And sink, himself, to rise no more, — 
 If I refused to grave his name 
 
 In living letters on my heart, 
 Would not the world condemn to shame 
 
 My soul for acting such a part?— 
 
 Lo! I was sinking in a sea 
 
 That bordered on the shores of hell, 
 Whose waters, as they rose on me, 
 
 I tasted, and I loved them well: — 
 
118 ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 (For he who hath these waters quaffed 
 
 Forgets the value of his soul, 
 And while he drinks a deeper draught, 
 
 Perdition's waves above him roll:) — 
 But One alone had strength to grasp 
 
 My sinking soul from that dread sea; 
 His arms around me he did clasp — 
 
 It cost his life to rescue me! 
 
 And yet, if I reprove the sin 
 
 That brings reproach on Jesus' fame, 
 Full soon unthinking crowds begin 
 
 To link "Enthusiast!" with my name. 
 And if I strive to live above 
 
 The sordidness of worldly things, 
 And show that I my Saviour love, 
 
 They aim at me envenomed stings. 
 
 Ah! if they hated me because 
 
 So little gratitude I show 
 To Him whose just and holy laws 
 
 Their sure protection o'er me throw; 
 
ENTHUSIASM. 119 
 
 Then might I bear their scorn and spite 
 In meekness, answering not a word; 
 
 Then might I own it was but right 
 Their indignation should be stirred. 
 
 O Jesus! what a heart is mine, 
 
 That can forget— so often, too— - 
 The condescending act of thine, 
 
 Which my soul from perdition drew! 
 The grace must surely be as much 
 
 Which bears with my ingratitude, 
 As that which prompted Thee to touch 
 
 My soul when sinking in the flood! 
 
 Bear with me still, my pitying Lord! 
 
 Drive not my soul away from thee; 
 My hope is in Thee, and thy word, 
 
 Which often is most sweet to me. 
 
120 
 
 LONELINESS. 
 
 Alone ! My soul doth never feel alone ! 
 
 From tender childhood to this hurrying hour, 
 
 God hath indued me with a potent power 
 Of calling spirits from a realm unknown, 
 
 With whom I hold communings sweet and free. 
 This life hath never been a cumbrous chain 
 For me to drag with heaviness and pain; 
 
 But Time hath sped on feathery wings with me. 
 My thoughts to me are sweeter than my bread ; 
 And when my lips have lacked, my mind hath fed 
 
 Luxuriously, as if it were a king. 
 And when the Lord hath smiled upon my way, 
 Fve walked in heaven on many a glorious day 
 
 While yet on earth my feet were wandering! 
 
121 
 
 THE DEATHLESS SMILE. 
 
 1 saw one in her maidenhood 
 From whom the life had fled, 
 
 And yet so lovely was her face 
 It seemed she was not dead! 
 
 Her eyelids as in sleep were closed, 
 Her hrow was white like snow; 
 
 A smile still lingered on her cheeks 
 As if 'twas loth to go ! 
 
 And it may "be, a smile so sweet, 
 
 So quiet and serene, 
 Was never on the healthy brow 
 
 Of living maiden seen. 
 
 Perchance the wondrous bliss which burst 
 
 Upon her raptured mind, 
 
 When first she woke in glory's courts, 
 
 Now left its trace behind. 
 11 
 
122 THE DEATHLESS SMILE. 
 
 Her end was peace. I thought that they 
 Who loved her should not grieve, 
 
 For these last words they heard her say, 
 "My spirit, Lord! receive." 
 
 And when they laid her in the earth, 
 Her cheek still held the bloom; 
 
 That smile so sweet the gentle maid 
 Bore with her to the tomb! 
 
 Would it be strange if brighter tints 
 
 Upon the flowers crept, 
 Which grew above the sacred spot 
 
 Where that meek maiden slept? 
 
123 
 
 THE GREAT DAY- 
 
 The shivered skies flee fast away; and flame 
 And smoke burst out, and horrid noises roar 
 As if a burning sea surged on the shore, 
 
 And racked old Nature's perishable frame. 
 Creation shudders ; and the trembling sun 
 
 Turns red like blood, and casts a crimson glare 
 
 Throughout the heaving billows of the air ; 
 The moon and stars, as if affrighted, run 
 
 In wild confusion ; while the trump of God 
 Resounds, and all the dead are called to life, 
 
 And— hushed at once the elemental strife — 
 In solemn stillness men await his nod. 
 
 Ah, day of doom ! Redeemer ! Brother ! Friend ! 
 
 Protect thine own— whose hopes on Thee depend! 
 
124 
 
 THE FATHER TO HIS FAMILY. 
 
 Come here, my angel-hearted child! 
 Come, push aside the ringlets wild 
 That hide thy brow, where peace hath smiled 
 
 Since ever thou wert born! 
 Come, I would kiss thy modest cheek, 
 Whereon the roses seem to seek 
 Unto thy father's heart to speak, 
 
 To cheer him when he's worn. 
 
 Come, too, my pretty, prattling one, 
 Whose tottering footsteps feebly run 
 To catch the rays of golden sun 
 
 That stream across the floor ! 
 Come, sit upon thy father's knee, 
 And crow and carol merrily, 
 And shout aloud with infant glee!— • 
 
 What can I wish for more ? 
 
THE FATHER TO HIS FAMILY. 125 
 
 Come thou, sweet wife ! — Come, sit beside 
 These cherub ones, our honest pride ! 
 Here in my bosom fondly hide 
 
 The blush of love ; and vow 
 To God who hears the raven's cry, 
 The parent's prayer, the orphan's sigh, 
 And pray that He be ever nigh 
 
 To save and bless, as now. 
 
 Who owns a portion, o'er the earth, 
 That hath a higher, nobler worth 
 Than his, who round his cheerful hearth 
 
 His best-beloved ones spies, — 
 All peaceful, blest — no angry storms 
 To beat upon their tender forms; 
 While love to God their bosoms warms, 
 
 And fits them for the skies ! 
 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 THE POET'S VISITER. 
 
 I sing for mine own pleasure, more than name 
 Or money's worth ; and he who lists may read 
 Or not, as pleases him: my gospel-creed 
 
 Allows to all the equal rights I claim. 
 Within the inner chambers of my mind 
 
 There cometh oftentimes a visiter, 
 
 Whose loveliness surpasseth human-kind— 
 
 I sing the mysteries that I learn of her. 
 I'm captive to her beauteousness ; her spell 
 
 Is potent. Miserable man were I 
 
 To slight a being whom I love so well, 
 
 Or pass her wooings unregarded by. 
 
 While my Great Maker sends me such a guest, 
 
 I'll tell what pleasant thoughts she wakens in 
 my breast. 
 
127 
 
 JUVENILE HYMN. 
 
 Who bids the soft wind blow? 
 
 Who bids the bright sun shine? 
 The flowers and grass that grow 
 Around this path of mine ? 
 Who makes these shady trees arise, 
 And spread their boughs beneath the skies? 
 
 Who makes this brook, so bright, 
 From earth's cold bosom spring, 
 And sparkle in the light, 
 And sweetly, sweetly sing — 
 As if an angel lent his voice 
 To help the rippling stream rejoice ? 
 
 Who gave the airy bird 
 
 Soft feathers and swift wings, 
 
 And taught it music-words 
 To charm us when it sings? — 
 
128 JUVENILE HYMN. 
 
 Say, little bird! who taught you how 
 To sing so sweetly on that bough? 
 
 O, 'tis our Father, God, 
 
 Who gives us every thing— 
 The grass, the flowery sod, 
 
 The brook, and birds that sing; 
 And all the blessings of this day 
 He sheds upon our happy way. 
 
 How good is God! He gave 
 
 His only Son to die, 
 Our souls from death to save, 
 And fit us for the sky! 
 O, let us bow, and serve Him here 
 With gratitude and love sincere. 
 
129 
 
 MY FATHER BLESSED ME. 
 
 My father raised his trembling hand, 
 And placed it on my head: 
 
 "God's blessing be on thee, my son!" 
 Most tenderly he said. 
 
 He died, and left no gems nor gold, 
 
 But still was I his heir — 
 For that rich blessing which he gave 
 
 Became a fortune rare. 
 
 And in my day of weary toil 
 
 To earn my daily bread, 
 It gladdens me in thought to feel 
 
 His hand upon my head. 
 
 Though infant tongues to me have said 
 "Dear father!" oft since then, 
 
 Yet when I bring that scene to mind, 
 I'm but a child again. 
 
130 
 
 REMEMBER THE POOR! 
 
 Remember the Poor! 
 It fearfully snoweth, 
 And bitterly bloweth; 
 
 Thou couldst not endure 
 
 The tempest's wild power 
 Through night's dreary hour, 
 
 Then pity the poor ! 
 
 Remember the poor! 
 
 The father is lying 
 
 In that hovel, dying 
 With sickness of heart. 
 
 No voice cheers his dwelling, 
 
 Of Jesus' love telling, 
 Ere life shall depart. 
 
 Remember the poor! 
 
 The widow is sighing, 
 The orphans are crying, 
 
REMEMBER THE POOR. 131 
 
 Half starving for bread; 
 
 In mercy be speedy 
 
 To succour the needy, — 
 Their helper is dead ! 
 
 Remember the poor! 
 
 The baby is sleeping, 
 
 Its cheeks wet with weeping, 
 On its mother's fond breast; 
 
 Whose cough, deep and hollow, 
 
 Foretells she'll soon follow 
 Her husband to rest! 
 
 Remember the poor! 
 
 To him who aid lendeth, 
 
 Whatever he spendeth 
 The Lord will repay; 
 
 And sweet thoughts shall cheer him, 
 
 And God's love be near him, 
 In his dying day! 
 
132 
 
 THE HYMNS MY MOTHER SUNG. 
 
 There are to me no hymns more sweet 
 Than those my mother sung, 
 
 When joyously around her feet 
 Her little children clung. 
 
 The baby in its cradle slept — 
 My mother sang the while ; — 
 
 What wonder if there softly crept 
 Across his lips a smile ? 
 
 And I, a sick and pensive boy, — 
 Oppressed with many pains, — 
 
 Oft felt my bosom thrill with joy 
 To hear her soothing strains. 
 
 The stealing tear mine eye bedims, 
 
 My heart is running o'er, — 
 The music of a mother's hymns 
 
 Shall comfort me no more ! 
 
133 
 
 THE DRUNKEN MOTHER'S CHILD. 
 
 A tender infant-girl 
 
 Lay in her shroud and coffin; 
 Her cheeks were like the pearl, 
 For tears had washed them often. 
 Ah me ! her lot was sad and wild,— 
 She was a drunken mother's child. 
 
 Some children seem, when dead, 
 
 As though they were hut sleeping; 
 But her eyes, in her head 
 Were sunken, as if weeping 
 Had emptied out the fount of life 
 In streams of agony and strife. 
 
 Her fingers were as thin 
 
 As starving want could make them — 
 
 Mere bones encased in skin— 
 
 The feeblest strain might break them; 
 12 
 
134 THE DRUNKEN MOTHER^ CHILD. 
 
 That wasted form her sorrows told, 
 As she lay there so pale and cold. 
 
 Her time was short; — who'd wept 
 Had time with her been shorter? 
 God's love on her was kept — 
 He claimed his suffering daughter,- 
 His goodness bade the child to die, 
 His mercy took her to the sky. 
 
 So delicate a flower 
 
 Should have a kindly keeper:— 
 Say, who — had 'he the power — 
 Would wake the little sleeper, — 
 Recall her from her home above, 
 To live where she had none to love? 
 
 Oh! quietly she rests, 
 
 In heaven sweetly singing; 
 
 Those hands with joy are pressed 
 That, yesterday, were wringing 
 
THE DRUNKEN MOTHER'S CHILD. 135 
 
 In helplessness and utter woe, 
 Beneath a mother's cruel blow. 
 
 No more she'll shed a tear 
 Of bitterness and sorrow, 
 Nor tremble with the fear 
 Of suffering to-morrow; 
 The anguish past that filled her breast, 
 Her weary soul is now at rest. 
 
136 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE 
 
 DAYID WHITE CULVER. 
 
 A lovely, fragile flower, 
 
 Just bursting into bloom, — 
 It lived through Winter's bitterest hour, 
 Unb lighted by its withering power, 
 
 To find in Spring a tomb ! 
 
 We hoped that Summer's rays 
 Its blossoms would expand — 
 That God would give it many days 
 To bloom in beauty to his praise — 
 The product of his hand. 
 
 But it hath passed away ; — 
 
 Yet life is in its root, 
 And 'neath the skies of cloudless day 
 'Twill grow in glorious array, 
 
 And yield immortal fruit. 
 
137 
 
 THE DYING MAN. 
 
 I saw a sick man die 
 
 A long and lingering death, 
 
 For nature struggled hard to keep 
 Her grasp upon his breath. 
 
 Amid the noisy day, 
 His pains abated not;— 
 
 His couch was downy, yet thereon 
 He found no resting spot. 
 
 Throughout the dark still night 
 He counted every stroke 
 
 That told the hour, as solemnly 
 Upon the ear it broke. 
 
 The weary hours wore on, 
 
 And night succeeded day, 
 
 As almost imperceptibly 
 
 His life-breath ebbed away. 
 12* 
 
138 THE DYING MAN. 
 
 Whene'er I came, he turned 
 
 His meek, imploring eye 
 To where I stood, and seemed to ask 
 
 For pitying sympathy. 
 
 Yet when I spoke a word, 
 
 And he would fain reply, 
 A spasm often made him shriek 
 
 An agonizing cry. 
 
 'Twas not on man he called 
 
 In his extremity: 
 "Thy will, O Lord! not mine be done!" 
 
 This was his only plea. 
 
 "Dear Jesus!" he would say, 
 "Sweet Saviour!" "Precious Lord!" 
 
 He spoke them oft, as though he found 
 A charm in every word. 
 
 My heart was touched — I wept, — 
 For I could not control 
 
THE DYING MAN. 139 
 
 The floods his meekness bade arise 
 Within my melting soul. 
 
 Oft as I left his side, 
 
 And made a parting prayer, 
 I thought it was the last request 
 
 In which on earth he'd share. 
 
 But still he lived, till hope 
 
 To our sad bosoms came, 
 That God would still enrobe with health 
 
 His meager, shrunken frame. 
 
 One day he stronger grew, 
 
 He felt no more of pain, 
 He slept, and in his sleep he sighed — 
 
 And did not wake again! 
 
140 
 
 THE WOUNDED BIRD. 
 
 She sat upon a cedar bough, 
 Her head beneath her wing-, 
 
 And swayed in anguish to and fro, 
 A wounded, dying thing. 
 
 Ah, hapless bird! her day of song 
 And blithesomeness was o'er ; 
 
 A wanton youth had stained her breast 
 And downy plumes with gore. 
 
 Her merry mates were calling her; 
 
 She not a note replied, 
 But bore her sufferings silently, 
 
 And, unrepining, died. 
 
 And life, and light, and happiness 
 Were clustered in the wood 
 
 Wherein that uncomplaining bird 
 So perished in her blood. 
 
141 
 
 ON HEARING A SERMON BY THE 
 
 REV. DE. ELY. 
 
 Again mine ears drink in the flowing tide 
 Of tones more sweet than if an angel spoke; 
 In days long gone, that voice my spirit woke 
 
 From dreams of folly, vanity, and pride. 
 The chain that bound me to earth's pleasures 
 broke, 
 
 (Which once I loved as if there were none 
 other,) 
 
 I learned that man to every man was brother, 
 And on my neck Christ laid his easy yoke. 
 
 New life was mine — a holier course begun, 
 I loved — and love — my teacher as a son. 
 Let coward Slander rear its venomed crest, 
 
 And seek to sting in some unguarded place, 
 Still God's good hand shall shield him by his grace, 
 And they shall love him most who've known him 
 long and best. 
 
142 
 
 THE DEAF. 
 
 i. 
 
 The deaf do live alone. In all the earth 
 There is no helpmeet found for them; within 
 One circle is their empire bound; no din 
 
 Invades the temple of their mind; — the mirth 
 And sighs of men are sounds to them unknown, 
 Though well they know the spirit's inward 
 groan ; 
 
 And mortal agonies belong to them 
 As well as to their fellow men ; for death 
 Hath passed on all who draw the vital breath, 
 
 And where sin is, there doth the law condemn. 
 
 Ah, hapless men! relentless silence keeps 
 Her watchpost at the portals of the ear; 
 No heavenly word or sound approacheth near, 
 
 And music's melting influence in lasting stillness 
 sleeps. 
 
THE DEAF. 143 
 
 II. 
 
 To them, the tongue of Nature speaketh not 
 
 When on the earth her holy voice is heard ; 
 The sighing winds that haunt the shady grot — 
 
 The murmuring brook — the merry singing-bird, 
 Are mute to them. They have not learned how- 
 sweet 
 
 Are human tones when kindness tunes the 
 voice, 
 
 Nor how a word may make the heart rejoice, 
 And change its sadness into bliss complete. 
 
 From all things audible debarred, they live 
 In lonely isolation, each apart: 
 
 Yet not for ever ! Christ in heaven shall give 
 The hearing ear to all the pure in heart. 
 With what delight the music of the spheres 
 Shall fill their rapt and newly-gifted ears ! 
 
144 
 
 TIME FLIES. 
 
 Like a river flowing 
 
 To a boundless sea, 
 Time is swiftly going 
 
 To eternity. 
 Waking or sleeping, 
 
 Moments fly: 
 Smiling or weeping, 
 
 All must die. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 WIS 
 

 
 
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