a < z - i^;-S £-_ I lyBHh - $flk fa .. I 9m y Wl § /v * H; ; ^^3 IS IP S*. /: if _ f p--sJ| THE EVERGREEN; A SELECTION OF JUltgimts k fxtnftm |kirtf. BOOKS OF THIS SORT, WHICH VIRTUE HELPED, WERE TITHED, NOT AMISS, "THE MEDICINE OF THE MIND." NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. LONDON: DAETON AKD CO., HOLBOEN HILL. M.DCCC.LII. \%5Z LONDON: PRINTED BY J. WERTHETMER AND CO., CIRCUS PLACE, FINSBURY CIRCUS. Exchange Western Ont. Univ. Library Fe -25-1938 A WORD TO THE READER. Little need be said by way of introduction to the selection of poems now offered to the public. It was thought that a compilation from the most ap- proved writings of our best poets, containing nothing of a frivolous or questionable character, would be welcomed by a numerous and intelligent class of readers. The desire of the Editor has been, to seek exclusively for that species of poetry, which is calculated to carry the mind of the reader from the false and fleeting excitements of earth, to those more enduring pleasures that are to be found m the contemplation of the brighter and happier world hereafter to dawn. To those who can appreciate the beauties of sacred song, the Editor with confi- dence submits the following collection The names of the authors, to which he need but refer, will be a sufficient evidence of the amount of talent and merit of which he has availed himself. It is a melancholy fact that so many bards have in our own times wasted the most glorious gifts of IV PREFACE. the Creator, a brilliant imagination and fine taste, in ministering only to the passions of earth. No such effusions will find place in the following pages. It is hoped that the time is coming when it will be universally acknowledged, that never are the poet's numbers more worthily sung— never is his lyre more sweetly tuned — than when devoted to the praise of Him from whom all ideas of the pure, the holy, and the beautiful, proceed. The success which has hitherto attended the sale of the "Evergreen" has induced the publishers to believe, that a superior edition, illustrated by original designs, and executed in the first style, would be favourably received by the public. CONTE NTS. - PAGE To my Infant Son AXON. 9 Hymn HEBER 11 Stanzas J. BUCHANAN 13 Song of the Stars ANON. 15 Christ Stilling the Tempest MILS- HEMANS 17 Messiah's Advent ANON. 18 Best Wishes ANON. 20 The Mercies of Redemption HODGSON 21 Christian Warfare CHARLOTTE ELIZ. 24 The Hebrew Mother . MRS. HEMANS 25 Birds C. W. THOMSON , 29 The Daisy J. M. GOOD 80 Power and Benevolence BARTON 31 A Church-yard Scene JOHN WILSON 32 Parted Friends C. W. THOMPSON 34 To the Rainbow T. CAMPBELL 35 The Stars F. MULLER 38 The Aspen Leaf MISS JEWSBURY 39 The Dead Sea REV. G CROLY 42 The Criminal CHARLES SWAIN 43 Verses written after recovering from a dangerous Illness MAR RIOT 45 The Maniac . • BARTON 47 What is that, Mother? G. W. DOANE 49 Christian Triumphs . JOAN BOWRING 51 Recollection J. EDMESTONE 52 Infant's Prayer NEELE 53 Where is he ? » 54 The Hour of Prayer . REV. T. RAFFLES 55 The Destruction of Sennacherib BYRON 57 Prayer J. MONTGOMERY 58 Stanzas W. ROSCOE 60 The Grave MARY HOWITT 61 The Death of the Righteous J. HARRIS 64 The Sabbath W. HOWITT 65 Vi CONTENTS. : PAGE Miriam's Song MOORE 67 Spiritual Worship BARTON 68 Ode to Disappointment H. K. WHITE 70 The Budding Leaf . ANON. 73 Hymn to Virtue ANON. 75 The First Grave MISS LANDON 77 The death of a Poet . W. GURNER 79 Stanzas TUCKER 81 There is a Tongue in every Leaf ANON. 82 A Prayer . BURNS 84 Better Moments WILLIS 85 Calvary . W. GURNER 87 Ode to Duty WORDSWORTH 89 The Tomb of Cyrus . ANON. 91 God an Unfailing Refuge WORDSWORTH 94 Who Loves me best ? M. A. BROWN 95 The Sister's Voice BROWNE 97 The Christian Poet . POLLOK 101 Christ's Nativity CAMPBELL 105 The Jewish Captive's Lament W. GURNER 107 To-Morrow J. BROWN 108 The Offering JOSIAH CONDER 109 Farewell to a Departed Friend HEBER 110 On the New Year E. DICKINSON 112 The Crucifixion ANON. 114 The Birds of Passage MRS. HEMANS 118 The Offering L. E. L. 120 The Parted Spirit JOHN MALCOLM 122 Earth and Heaven C. F. RICHARDSON 124 The Wizard MISS JEWSBUIIY 126 Advent Hymn MILMAN 128 The Pilgrim's Home . ANON. 129 A Mother's Love EMILY TAYLOR 130 The Mother's Grief . REV. THOS. DALE 133 The Raising of Lazarus » 131 Slavery — True Freedom POLLOK 136 The Land which no mortal ma) know . BERN A II J) BARTON 139 CONTENTS. vii PAGE Evening Time J. MONTGOMERY 141 Watch Ye . ANON. 142 Praise POLLOK 143 The Clouds S. C. HALL. 145 Night MONTGOMERY 148 There remaineth a rest for the people of God W. GURNER 151 The Heavenly Jerusalem RAFFLES 152 Echo ANON. 154 The Beacon M. P. JAMES 155 Mortality and Immortality OSBORN 157 Sharon's Rose ANON. 157 The Christian M. E. BEAUFORT 159 The World to come . BOWRING 160 Comfort under Affliction R. GRANT 161 Hebrew Hymn SIR WALTER SCOTT 163 Vanity of the World . MRS. STEELE 164 There is a World we have not seen L ANON. 166 A New Year's Eve , BERNARD BARTON 167 The Rainbow J. HOLLAND 169 God hath prepared for them a City 7 3. G. B. PEGG 172 Fall of the Leaf BISHOP HORNE 174 The Passion of Christ MILMAN 176 Mutations of the World ANON. 179 Gospel Truth BOWRING 181 The Christian's Triumph J. G.B. PEGG 182 To my Child at Play ANON. 184 The Dial of Flowers . MRS. HEMANS 186 The Convict Ship . T. K. HERVEY 187 Song of the Angels at Bethlehem CAWOOD 190 Heavenly Mindedness MRS. COTTERILL 191 The Sabbath CUNNINGHAM 192 A Fragment SAMUEL ROGERS 193 Prayer answered by Affliction NEWTON 194 The Second Coming of Christ ' MILMAN 195 Daffodils HERRICK 198 Stanzas H. THOMSON 199 On the Death of a Friend J. MONTGOMERY 200 vili CONTENTS. PAGE The Missionary- W. HOWITT 201 Tyre MARY HOWITT 203 A Lucid Interval J. MONTGOMERY 205 Such is Life W. GURNER 208 The Entry into Jerusalem CROLY 209 Self-Examination ANON. 211 Heaven BOWLES 213 They are no more CHARLES SWAIN 215 The Living and the Dead J. MONTGOMERY 216 Christian Love CHRISTIAN YEAR 217 The Last Man T. CAMPBELL 220 Comparison ANON. 223 The Path of Heaven Narrow an( 1 Thorny COWPER 224 Job's Complaint DALE 226 The Saint . MARRIOT 229 The Place of Rest . ANON. 230 The Common Lot J. MONTGOMERY 232 Reflection . CRABBE 233 Sunset Thoughts MOIR 234 A Prayer . ANON. 235 A Domestic Scene MRS. HEMANS 236 Evening Pleasures ANON. 237 The Pilgrims of Emmaus COWPER 239 The Celestial Sabbath RUSSIAN POETRY 240 . The Hour of Prayer . MRS. HEMANS 241 Rachel Weeping for her Children BISHOP HEBER 242 Pleasure not found in the World , THOMAS DALE 213 Love of Parents NOEL 244 Death of a Christian . MRS. HEMANS 245 Invocation . » 246 Death ANON 247 Resignation MRS. COWPER 249 Sea Side Thoughts . BARTON 251 " What thou knowest not now, thoi I shalt know hereafter " SWAINE 252 €n mi} Mratf Inn. Thy mother bade me weave a iay, A lay of love, for thee ; And I with willing mind obey, Though tuneless all it be ; Though words but mock the fond excess Of love, of hope, of tenderness, Which thou hast wrought in me ; And though my harp's degenerate chords Faint echoes yield to powerless words. O could my heart, flown to my tongue, Dissolve itself in sound : Or did my harp, now all unstrung, With dulcet notes abound; Then would I strike a chord should chain The mind, and draw forth tears like ram, WTien I am in the ground; But thou, should Heaven thy life prolong, May'st value e'en this rugged song. B 10 TO MY INFANT SON. But it may be, my boy, thy life Is in its spring to cease: It may be, that ere manhood's strife, Thou It find eternal peace : And ne'er should wish of mine be lent, Were wishes potent to prevent Thy happy soul's release : He metes thy days, my little one, Who gave thee life, — His will be done. But ever pure may be thy breast In grief, in joy, the same; And never may dishonour rest Its cloud upon thy name; But may'st thou early learn to prize The plaudits of the good and wise Alone as real fame ; Nor let the race absorb thy soul, But keep thine eye fixed on the goal ! Thy mother ! never may her eye Be damp with tears for thee, Save for those little ills which try Thy tender infancy ; And may'st thou to man's sterner worth Join her warm heart, her guileless mirth, Her frankness, constancy, Her love, which time cannot estrange. Which knows no ebb, and knows no change. HYMN. 1 1 And when at length into thy breast Death's chilling tremors creep. O may'st thou sink into its rest, As to a gentle sleep, Unreach'd by doubt, unchaf 'd by pain, Leaving behind thee not a stain, O'er which the good may weep ; But with thy spirit plum'd to rise To that pure world beyond the skies. And this world many a peril hath. If thou should' st tarry here, Toils, cares, and griefs, lie in thy path ; And manhood's rough career Will dash the gladness from thy brow, The freshness from thy cheek, and thou, Perchance, may'st shed the tear O'er all thou lov'st, as earth receives Them one by one, like autumn leaves. Anon. IptJ, O blest were the accents of early Creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from above ; In the clods of the earth to infuse animation, « And wake their cold atoms to life and to love I 12 HYMN. And mighty the tones which the firmament rended; When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind, By lightning and hail, and thick darkness attended, He uttered, on Sinai, his laws to mankind. And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven, (Tho' poor his apparel, tho' earthly his form,) Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven ! " "Be whole!" to the sick; and "Be still!" to the storm. O Judge of the World ! when array' d in thy glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on high; When Nature stands trembling and naked before thee, And waits on thy sentence to live or to die, When the Heavens shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder, And the Sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale, And the Sea yield her dead, and the Tomb cleave asunder, In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail ! Hebeu. lis H«ttfO£ I look'u unto God in the season of anguish, When earth and its trifles could charm me no more; When pain and affliction had caused me to languish, And the dream of my youthful existence was o'er : I look'd unto Him who alone can deliver, Whose arm of omnipotence never shall yield ; And I prayed that his grace might support me for ever, My Rock and my Refuge, my Sun and my Shield. How bitterly then did my conscience upbraid me ; For the least of my crimes I had nothing to plead; But I thought of the promise which Jesus had made me, And I cried unto him in the time of my need. Yes: He whose entreaties so oft I'd neglected, And met all his kind invitations with scorn; The Saviour and Prince whom I thus had rejected, Was my only relief when I wander' d forlorn. b 2 14 STANZAS. Yet still — O the baseness that reigns in my spirit !— I often forget thee, thou heavenly Friend, And thankless for all which from thee I inherit, Deny thee, and grieve thee — ay, times without end. How oft when the worldling has dar'd me to trial, Have I pass'd him in silence regardlessly by; Was this like the courage, the boundless denial, Which a sense of thy favour should ever supply ? O Father of mercies, assist me to cherish The light of thy word in my innermost soul ; Without thine assistance I feel I must perish * In the tempest of sin which I cannot control ; But Thou who canst say to the foam-crested ocean, " Thus far and no farther thy proud waves shall come," Thou only can'st curb each unhallow'd emotion, And guide me in peace to my glorious home. John Buchanan. 1 - r n -^%Si i 15 lireg nf fyi Ita When the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath : And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame From the void abyss by myriads came, In the joy of youth as they darted away, Through the widening wastes of space to play, Their silver voices in chorus rang, And this was the song the bright ones sang : — " Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, The fair blue fields that before us lie; Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, Each planet poised on her turning pole, With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, And waters that lie like fluid light. " For the Source of Glory uncovers his face, And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space : And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides In our ruddy air and our blooming sides; Lo, yonder the living splendours play ! Away, on our joyous path, away ! 16 SONG OF THE STARS. " Look, look through our glittering ranks afar, In the infinite azure, star after star, How they brighten and gloom as they swiftly pass ; How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass ! And the path of the gentle winds is seen, Where the small waves dance and the young woods lean. u And see where the brighter day-beams pour, How the rainbow hangs in the sunny shower ; And the morn and the eve, with their pomp of hues, Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews, And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground, With her shadowy cone, the Night goes round. " Away, away ! In our blossoming bowers, In the soft air wrapping those spheres of ours, In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, See Love is brooding and Life is born, And breathing myriads are breaking from night, To rejoice, like us, in motion and light." Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres, To weave the dance that measures the years ; Glide on in the glory and gladness sent To the farthest wall of the firmament, The boundless visible smile of Him, To the veil of whose brow our lamps are dim. Anon. 17 €\m\ f tilling "tjp €twp± Fear was within the tossing bark, When stormy winds grew loud, And waves came rolling high and dark, And the tall mast was bowed. And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill — But One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea, "Be still!" And the wind ceased — that conquering word Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. And slumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the righteous fall asleep, When death's fierce throes are past, Thou that didst rule the angry hour, And tame the tempest's mood, Oh ! send thy Spirit forth in power, O'er our dark souls to brood ! 18 Messiah's advent. Thou that didst bow the billow's pride, Thy mandates to fulfil, — So speak to Passion's raging tide, Speak and say, — " Peace, be still ! " Mrs. Hemans. fysstatys IutoI He came not in his people's day Of miracle and might, When awe-struck nations owned their sway, And conquest crowned each fight;— When Nature's self with wonder saw, Her ancient power, her boasted law, To feeble man give way — The elements of earth and heaven For Israel stayed — for Judah riven ! Pillar and cloud Jehovah gave, High emblems of his grace ; And clove the rock, and smote the wave, Moved mountains from their place: — But judgment was with mercy blent — In thunder was the promise sent — Fierce lightning veil'd his face ; The jealous God — the burning law — Were all thy chosen people saw. Messiah's advent, 19 Behold them — pilgrim-tribes no more — The promis'd land their own; And blessings theirs of sea and shore, To other realms unknown : From age to age a favoured line, Of mighty kings and seers divine, A temple and a throne : Not then, but in their hour of shame, Woe, want, and weakness — then " He came." Not in the earthquake's rending force, Not in the blasting fire; Not in the strong wind's rushing course, Came He, their soul's desire! Forerunners of his coming these, Proclaiming over earth and seas, As God, his might and ire : The still small voice, the hovering dove, Proved him Messiah, — spoke him "Love! " Of life the Way, of light the Spring, Eternal, un defiled; Redeemer, Prophet, Priest, and King — Yet came he as a child ! And Zion's favoured eye grown dim, Knew not her promised Lord in Him, The lowly and the mild ! She saw the manger and the tree, And scornful cried — "Can this be He? " Anon. 20 Who -art thou, stranger! Nay, read on, I will not ask thy name or lot; Whether thy days be well-nigh gone, Or in their spring — it matters not; Thou art my brother ! and for thee, Stranger, shall my best wishes be. Life is a sea of stormy pain ; Thou know'st it or thou soon wilt know; Thine be the faith that braves the main, When its most angry tempests blow ; Thine anchor cast within the veil; . None ever knew that mooring fail. Thine be the love — refined from sense — That seeks its object in the skies, Draws all its warmth and brightness thence, Its comfort, confidence, and joys; And be thy best affections giv'n To Him who lov'd thee first in heav'n. Thine be the refuge — ever found By them who seek in faith and prayer — From all the trials that abound Throughout this wilderness of care. The faithfulness of Him, whose love Storms cannot quench, nor death remove. THE MERCIES OF REDEMPTION. 21 Thine be the meekness of the flower That bows its head before the blast; Increase in wisdom and in power ; Be lowliness around thee^cast; — Thy faith and love, like flames of fire Trembling, the higher they aspire. And when thy Master calls thee, — thine, Thine be the crown of endless joy, Where Heaven's eternal rivers shine Beneath a bright and cloudless sky. Those realms — how beautiful and fair ! Stranger ! a blissful meeting there ! Anon. €\t Minim nf Erittmjfc O can such charms be left to waste, Unmarked by man's insensate taste? Can beauty, use, and health, Be spread before regardless eyes, And not one thankful accent rise For all creation's wealth? Alas ! in vain, — if outward sense Is claimed by Heaven's benevolence, How shall it hope to reach 22 THE MERCIES OF REDEMPTION. The callous bosom's inmost core, And bid the heart with love run o'er That mocks the vent of speech ? Such love as lost and ruined man Owes to redemption's wondrous plan; Such love as He demands, Who, clothed in poverty's disgrace, Was given on earth no resting-place, Save by his murderers' hands. The Son of God descend from Heaven ! The Son of God to slaughter given For man's offending race ! O help us to conceive aright The mysteries of that awful sight ! O help us, guardian Grace! When all the heavenly host around Heard the tremendous fiat's sound, That man was doom'd to die; Each on the other gaz'd in dread, Each hung his sad angelic head; And silence filled the sky. Then, like the light, first-born above And launch'd o'er earth by holy Love, Stood forth th' all-gracious Son; Eager to pay the appointed price, Offered himself the sacrifice, And man's redemption won. THE MERCIES OF REDEMPTION. 23 Swift through the vast ethereal space, Flew the bright messenger of grace, At heaven's appointed hour; And o'er yon low Judean roof, Where human power stood far aloof, Announced the Incarnate Power. The Virgin hears with holy awe, The great fulfilment of the law, Sprung from herself on earth; And now the manifesting star Calls Wisdom from the East afar, To hail the promised birth. Ye Nations, worship at the call; Emanuel comes, to rescue all From death's relentless doom : Thou slumbering World, awake and see Thy life and immortality In yon poor manger's gloom ! Lay down your worthy offerings here ; The myrrh He loves is Sorrow's tear, O'er conscious guilt distill' d; His frankincense the grateful sigh Of Guilt redeemed from misery — Thus be his temple filled! "Peace and good- will" to earth He brings, And Heaven that hears, in transport sings ! O turn to Him alone, 24 THE HEBREW MOTHER. Turk, Heathen, Jew, till Heaven behold One Shepherd and one spotless fold Surround Jehovah's throne. Hodgson. (Cjrriattaii Wadm. Soldier, go — hut not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name, Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. Dream not that the way is smooth, Hope not that the thorns are roses; Turn no wishful eye of youth Where the sunny beam reposes; — Thou hast sterner work to do, Hosts to cut thy passage through: Close behind thee gulphs are burning — Forward! — there is no returning. Soldier, rest — but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes ihe billow: Thine must be a watchful sleep, Wearier than another's waking : Sucli a charge as thou dost keep Brooks no moment of forsaking. ■ i ' .'.■ :^::? ;:f: " i;; 'i i k :^$ *4^V ■^. Iv^j|Jp THE HEBREW MOTHER. 25 Sleep as on the battle-field, Girded — grasping sword and shield; Those thou canst not name nor number Steal upon thy broken slumber. Soldier, rise- — the war is done : Lo ! the hosts of hell are flying; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won; Jesus vanquish' d them by dying. Pass the stream — before thee lies All the conquered land of glory: Hark ! what songs of rapture rise, These proclaim the victor's story. Soldier, lay thy weapons down, Quit the sword, and take the crown ; Triumph! all thy foes are banished, Death is slain, and earth has vanish'd. Charlotte Elizabeth. €ju Wihw Mnfyn. The rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, When a young mother, with her first born, thence Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd Unto the temple-service. By the hand She led him, and her silent soul, the while, Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye Met her sweet, serious glance, rejoic'd to think c 2 26 THE HEBREW MOTHER. That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers, To brin^ before her God. So pass'd they on O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, Like lulling rain -drops, or the olive boughs, With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue Of Syria's heaven, she paus'd, that he might rest : Yet from her own meek eye-lids chas'd the sleep That weigh* d their dark fringe down, to sit & watch The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, As at a red flower's heart; and where a fount Lay, like a twilight star, midst palmy shades, Making its banks green gems along the wild, There too she linger'd, from the diamond wave Drawing clear water for his rosy lips, And softly parting clusters of jet curls To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reach' d, The earth's One Sanctuary: and rapture hush'd Her bosom, as before her, through the day It rose a mountain of white marble, steep'd In light like floating gold. — But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear, Turn'd from the white-rob' d priest, and round her arm THE HEBREW MOTHER. 27 Clung e'en as ivy clings; the deep spring- tide Of nature then swell' d high ; and o'er her child Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sounds Of weeping and sad song. — "Alas!" she cried — " Alas, my boy ! thy gentle grasp is on me, The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, And now fond thoughts arise, And silver chords again to earth have won me ; And like a vine thou claspest my full heart — How shall I hence depart ? — " How the lone paths retrace, where thou wert playing, So late along the mountains at my side ? And I in joyous pride, By every place of flowers my course delaying, Wove e'en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair, Beholding thee so fair ! " And oh ! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted, Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turn'd from its door away, While, through its chambers wandering weary hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still Went like a singing rill? 28 THE HEBREW MOTHER. m " Under the palm trees thou no moreshalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return With the full water-urn ! Nor will thy sleep's low, dove-like murmurs greet me, As midst the silence of the stars I wake, And watch for thy dear sake. " And thou, will slumber's dewy cloudfall round thee Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To find my neck ; and lift up in thy fear, A cry which none shall hear ? " What have I said, my child ? — Will He not hear thee Who the young ravens heareth from their nest ? Will He not guard thy rest, And, in the hush of holy midnight hear thee, Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy? Thou shalt sleep soft, my boy! " I give thee to thy God ! — the God that gave thee, A well-spring of deep gladness to my heart! And precious as thou art, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee My own, my beautiful, my undefiled! And thou shalt be His Child ! BIRDS. 29 "Therefore, farewell ; — I go ; my soul may fail me, As the stag panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks ? But thou, my first-born! droop not, nor bewail me; Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, The Rock of strength — farewell." • Mrs. Hemans. Ye birds that fly through the fields of air, What lessons of wisdom and truth ye bear ! Ye would teach our souls from the earth to rise, Ye would bid us its grovelling scenes despise, Ye would tell us that all its pursuits are vain, That pleasure is toil — -ambition is pain, — That its bliss is touched with a poisoning leaven ; Ye would teach us to fix our aim on heaven. Beautiful birds of the azure wing, Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring ; We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn, Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn ! Though rainbow splendour around you glows, Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows : O what a lesson for glory are ye, How ye preach the grace of humility ! 30 BIRDS. Swift birds that skim o er the stormy deep Who steadily onward your journey keep, Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay, But press still forward, by night and day — As in your unwearying course ye fly Beneath the clear and unclouded sky ; O may we, without delay, like you, The path of duty and right pursue. Sweet birds that breathe the spirit of song, And surround Heaven's gate in melodious throng, Who rise with the earliest beams of day, Your morning tribute of thanks to pay, You remind us that we should likewise raise The voice of devotion and song of praise; There's something about you that points on high, Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky ! C. W. Thomson. €$t Itoisq. Not worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, Need we to prove a God is here : The daisy, fresh from winter's sleep Tells of His hand in lines as clear. For who but he that arch'd the skies, And pours the day-spring's living flood, POWER AND BENEVOLENCE. 33. Wondrous alike in all He tries, Could rear the daisy's purple bud— Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin, And cut the gold- embossed gem, That set in silver gleams within — Then fling it, unrestrained and tree, O'er hill and dale, and desert see In every step, the stamp of God ? J. M. G ^mmr raft %mm\tm. God is not great because omnipotent ! But because power in Him is understood, And felt and prov'd to be benevolent, And wise, and holy ; — thus it ever should! For what He wills, we know is pure and good, And has in view the happiness of all : Hence love and adoration ; — never could The contrite spirit at His footstool fall, If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal. 32 A CHURCHYARD SCENE. If then divinest power be truly so, Because its object is mankind to bless ; It follows, that all power which man can know, The highest even monarch s can possess, Displays alone their " less than littleness" Unless it seek the happiness of man, And glory of the Highest ; — nothing less Than such a use of power one moment can Make its possessor great on wisdom's god-like plan. How sweet and solemn, all alone, With reverend step, from stone to stone, In a small village churchyard lying, O'er intervening flowers to move — And as we read the names unknown, Of young and old, to judgment gone, And hear, in the calm air above, Time onward, softly frying, To meditate, in Christian love, Upon the dead and dying ! Across the silence, seem to go With dream-like motion, wavery, slow, And shrouded in their folds of snow, The friends we loved long, long ago ! A CHURCHYARD SCENE. 33 Gliding across the sad retreat, How beautiful their phantom feet ! What tenderness is in their eyes, Turned where the poor survivor lies, 'Mid monitory sanctities! What years of vanish' d joy are fann'd From one uplifting of that hand In its white stillness ! When the shade Doth glimmeringly in sunshine fade From our embrace, how dim appears This world's life, through a mist of tears ! Vain hopes ! Wild sorrows ! Needless fears ! Such is the scene around me now: A little churchyard on the brow Of a green pastoral hill; Its sylvan village sleeps below, And faintly, here, is heard the flow Of Woodburn's summer rill, A place where all things mournful meet, And yet, the sweetest of the sweet The stillest of the still! With what a pensive beauty fall, Across the mossy mouldering wall, That rose-tree's clustered arches ! See The robin red-breast, warily, Bright through the blossoms leaves his nest ; Sweet ingrate ! through the winter blest At the fire -sides of men — but shy Through all the sunny, summer hours — He hides himself among the flowers d 84 PARTED FRIENDS. In his own wild festivity. What lulling sound, and shadow cool, Hang half the darkened churchyard o'er, From thy green depth, so beautiful, Thou gorgeous sycamore! Oft have the lowly wine and bread, Been blessed beneath thy murm'ring tent, Where many a bright and hoary head, Bowed at the awful sacrament. Now all beneath the turf are laid, On which they sat, and sang, and prayed. Above that consecrated tree Ascends the tapering spire, that seems To lift the soul up silently To heaven with all its dreams! — While in the belfry, deep and low, From his heav'd bosom's purple gleams The dove's continuous murmurs flow A dirge-like song, half bliss, half woe, — The voice so lonely seems ! John W t ilson. ^jifelt /rank Parted friends may meet again When the storms of life are past ; And the spirit freed from pain, Basks in friendship that will last TO THE RAINBOW. 85 Worldly cares may sever wide — Distant far their path may be — But, the bond by Death untied, They shall once again be free. Death — the end of care and pain — Death, the wretch's happiest meed, Death can break the strongest chain. Death is liberty indeed. Parted friends again may meet, From the toils of nature free; Crown'd with mercy, O how sweet Will eternal friendship be ! C. W. Thompson, €n tjn EatDbmn. Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem as to my childhood's sight A mid- way station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. 36 TO THE RAINBOW. Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamed of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ? When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws. And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High Have told, why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. , When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's cov'nant thou did'st shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. Methinks thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang, On earth delivered from the deep, And the first poet sang. TO THE RAINBOW. 37 Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptur'd greet thy beam ; Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the poet's theme ! The earth to thee its incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshen'd fields The snowy mushroom springs* How glorious is thy girdle cast, O'er mountain, tower, and town: Or mirror' d in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam, For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age, That first spoke peace to man. T. Campbe&z. d2 38 €§i ituri Oh ; tis lovely to watch ye at twilight rise, "When the last gleam fades in the distant skies, When the silver chime of the minster bell, And the warbling fount in the woodland dell And the viewless sounds in the upper air, Proclaim the hour of prayer! Then ye shine in beauty above the sea, Bright wanderers o'er the blue sky free ! Catching the tone of each sighing breeze, And the whispering sound of the forest trees, Or the far-off voice, through the quiet dim Of some hamlet's hymn ! And the midnight too, all still and lone ! Ye guard in beauty from many a throne ! In your silver silence throughout the hour, Watching the rest of each folded flower; Gladdening with visions each infant's sleep, Through the night hour deep ! Yes, ye look over Nature's hushed repose, By the forest still where the streamlet flows, By the breezeless hush of many a plain, And the pearly flow of the silver main, Or sweetly far o'er some chapel shrine Of the olden time! THE ASPEN LEAF. 39 Thus in shadeless glory ye onward roll, Bright realms of beauty from pole to pole ! 'Midst the vaulted space where your bright paths lie, In the hidden depths of the midnight sky, To some far-off land — to some distant home, 'Neath the ocean's foam ! But lo ! the far voice of the waking sea, And the dim dew rising o'er lawn i And the first faint tinge of the earl » day, Shining afar o'er the ocean's spray O ye that have been as a power and i Through the dim midnight! — -Fare ye well ! F. MULLER. €\i Slsftttt tni I would not be A leaf on yonder aspen tree : In every fickle breeze to play, Wildly, weakly, idly gay, So feebly framed, so lightly hung, By the wing of an insect stirred and swung Thrilling e'en to a redbreast's note, Drooping if only a light mist float, Brighten'd and dimm'd like a varying glass, As shadow or sunbeam chance to pass ; — =4r 40 THE ASPEN LEAF. I would not be, I would not be, A leaf on yonder aspen tree. It is not because the autumn sere Would change my merry guise and cheer, — That soon, full soon, nor leaf, nor stem, Sunlight would gladden or dew-drop gem, — That I, with my fellows, must fall to the earth, Forgotten our beauty and breezy mirth, se on the bough where all had grown, Must linger on, and linger alone. Lt life be an endless summer's day, [ be for ever green and gay, I would not be, I would not be, A leaf on yonder aspen tree ! — Proudly spoken, heart of mine, Yet weakness and change perchance are thine. More, and darker, and sadder to see, Than befall the leaves of yonder tree ! What if they flutter — their life is a dance ; Or toy with the sunbeam — they live in his glance; To bird, breeze, and insect rustle and thrill, Never the same, never mute, never still, — Emblems of all that is fickle and gay, But leaves in their birth, but leaves in decay — Chide them not — heed them hot — spirit, away Into thyself, to thine own hidden shrine, What there dost thou worship ? what deem'st thou divine ? Thy hopes, — are they steadfast, and holy, and high? THE ASPEN LEAF. 41 Are they built on a rock ; are they raised to the sky ? Thy deep secret yearnings, — O whither pointthey, To the triumph of earth, to the toys of a day ? — Thy friendships and feelings, — doth impulse prevail To make them, and mar them, as wind swells the sail ? Thy life's ruling passion — thy being's first aim — What are they ? and yield they contentment or shame ? Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state, If thine the leafs lightness, not thine the leafs fate, It may flutter, and glisten, and wither, and die, And heed not our pity, and ask not our sigh ; But for thee, the immortal, no winter may throw Eternal repose on thy joy, or thy woe ; Thou must live — live for ever — in glory or gloom, Beyond the world's precincts, bey ondthe dark tomb. Look to thyself, then, ere pass'd is Hope's reign, And looking and longing alike are in vain, Lest thou deem it a bliss to have been or to be But a fluttering leaf on yon aspen tree. Miss Jewsbury. 42 €jtf to& #*a. The wind blows chill across those gloomy waves ; O how unlike the green and dancing main ! The surge is foul as if it roll'd o'er graves: Stranger ! here lie the cities of the plain. Yes, en that plain, by wild waves covered now, Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle ! On pomp and spectacle beamed morning's glow, On pomp and festival the twilight fell. Lovely and splendid all, — but Sodom's soul Was stained with blood, and pride, and perjury; Long warn'd, long spared, till her whole heart was foul, And fiery vengeance on its clouds came nigh. And still she mocked, and danced, and taunting spoke Her sporting blasphemies against the Throne : It came ! — the thunder on her slumber broke : God spake the word of wrath ! Her dream was done. Y et, in her final night, amid her stood Immortal messengers, and pausing Heaven Pleaded with man ; but she was quite imbued : Her last hour waned — shescorn'dto be forgiven. THE CKIMINAL. 43 'Twas done! down poured at once the sulphurous shower, Down stooped, inflame, the heaven's red canopy. O for the arm of God in that fierce hour ! 'Twas vain, nor help of God or man was nigh. They rush, they bound, they howl, the men of sin : Still stooped the cloud, still burst the thicker blaze ; The earthquake heaved ! then sank the hideous din ! Yon wave of darkness o'er their ashes strays. Rev. G. Croly. €$t Criminal The dungeon walls were dark and high, The narrow pavement bare, No sunlight of the blessed sky Might ever enter there ; In all the melancholy weeks The prisoner chained had lain, No breath of heaven had kiss' d his cheeks, Or cool'd his fever' d brain. For him — awake — asleep — there came No vision of sweet rest : 44 THE CRIMINAL. Undying memory, like a flame, Burn'd in his guilty breast : Dark as the weary gloom around, His soul was dark within; For, oh! he lived but in the sound Of shamelessness and sin. His mother heard his final doom, With shrieks that thrilled through all — O could nought save him from the tomb ? Must he — must he ! thus fall ? The arrow pierc'd her aged head, With cold and deadly pain ; She totter'd senseless to her bed, And never rose again ! His father spoke not — but the pale And quivering lip confess' d How direst agonies did assail His miserable breast; His eyes were closed, as if the light Was loathsome to behold ; But tears burst from the lids to sight — They could not be controlTd ! Fast flew the fatal hours — he trod Life's very brink alone ; Yet had no hope — no fear — no God! His heart was turn'd to stone. VERSES. 45 I saw him as he pass'd along, A branded death to die ; Wild curses were upon his tongue — Despair and blasphemy ! If there be one these lines may teach A moral, not in vain Have I endeavour' d thus to reach A more reflective strain ; The picture is from life — each day As sad a tale records : Virtue ! may thy eternal ray Light all our deeds and words ! Charles Swain. WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERING FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS. Though taught by woes to mortals seldom known, The humbling truth that "man is not his own", That, till we live to Him for us who died, All love is selfish, and all knowledge pride, All happiness a momentary gleam, All hope a meteor, and all peace a dream: Though taught this truth by discipline severe, (Such as health could not, life could scarcely bear,) 46 VERSES. Strong are the ties which still my mind entwine, And counteract the work of love divine. The world, the world its glittering baits prepares,' Its friendship offers, and obtrudes its cares ; Still would intemperate fancy wildly stray, Spite of the secret check, the secret ray : Weak to withstand, and yet afraid to yield, I neither keep, nor wholly quit the field. Father of mercies, "till the day-spring rise," And thy salvation glad my longing eyes ; Till doubt and fear like " morning shadows flee," And all my griefs are lost in love of Thee ; While through this cheerless world I faintly strive, Hope sore depress'd and Faith but just alive, Teach me to dread all guidance but thine own, And patient tread ' ' in paths I have not known ": Forgive my murmurings ; let thy quickening power Support my spirits in the gloomy hour : And when the hosts of household foes appal, " Turn, thou beloved," at my feeble call, Come, "with the swiftness of the mountain roe", And strength proportioned to my wants bestow , Teach me those wants more deeply still to feel, And deeply feeling, suppliant when to kneel : Oli ! in my soul that ardent thirst renew, Which nought can satiate but celestial dew ; Drive thou from thence unprofitable care, Yea, all that mars it for a house of prayer ; THE MANIAC. 47 Dislodge alike the abject and the proud, Passion's low mist, and Notion's airy cloud ; Whate'er thy power has shaken, shake again, Till nought but things immovable remain. Thus, gracious Father, break each false repose, And unrelenting, "rule amidst the foes", Till, every low propensity exiled, "My soul is even as a weaned child" ! From mean self-love, or gross, or specious, free. — And all my treasures, all my springs in thee ! Marriot. <€)t %mm. To see the human mind o'erturn'd, Its loftiest heights in ruin laid, And Reason's lamp, which brightly burn'd, Obscur'd or quench'd in Frenzy's shade: A sight like this may well awake Our grief, our fear, — for Nature's sake. It is a painful, humbling thought — To know the empire of the mind, With wit endow'd, with science fraught, Is fleeting as the passing wind ; 48 THE MANIAC. And that the richest boon of heaven To man — -is rather lent than given. • To-day he sits on Reason's throne, And bids his subject-powers obey : Thought, Memory, Will, — all seem his own, Come at his bidding, list his sway ; To-morrow — from dominion hurl'd, Madness pervades the mental world ! Yet think not, though forlorn and drear The maniac's doom— his lot the worst, There is a suffering more severe Than these sad records have rehearsed : 'Tis his, whose virtue struggles still In hopeless conflict with his will. There are — before whose mental eye Truth has her chastest charms display'd ; But gaudier phantoms fluttering by, The erring mind have still betray'd; Till gathering clouds in awful night, Have quench' d each beam of heavenly light. There are— whose mental ear has heard The "still small voice!" yet, prone to wrong, Have proudly, foolishly preferr'd The sophist's creed, the syren's song; And stak'd upon a desperate throw, Their hopes above — their peace below. WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? 49 There are, in short, whose days present One constant scene of painful strife : Who hourly for themselves invent Fresh conflicts ; — till this dream of life Has made their throbbing bosoms ache, And yet, alas ! they fear to wake. With theirs compared, the maniac's doom, Though abject, must be counted blest : His mind, though often veil'd in gloom, At times may know a vacant rest : Not so, while Thought and Conscience prey Upon the heart which slights their sway. O Thou ! whose cause they both espouse, In mercy bid such conflict cease • Strengthen the wakening sinner's vows, And grant him penitence and peace ; Or else, in pity, o'er the soul The dark'ning clouds of madness roll. Barton. t0jrnti3 ijtat, Mvtyil What is that, mother ? The lark, my child ! — The morn has but just looked out and smiled, When he soars aloft from his grassy nest, And is up and away, with the dew on his breast, b 2 50 WHAT IS THAT, MOTHER? And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that, mother ? The dove, my son ! — And that low sweet voice, like a widow's moan, Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure by that lonely nest, As the wave is pour'd from some crystal urn, For her distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove, In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, mother ? The eagle, boy ! Proudly careering his course of joy, Firm, on his own mountain-vigour relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying ; His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward, and upward, and true to the line. What is that, mother ? The swan, my love, He is floating down from his native grove, CHKISTIAN TRIUMPHS. 51 No loved one now, no nestling nigh, He is floating down by himself to die, Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings, Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my love, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home ! G. W. Doane. donate ^rinmpjfH. Thougr laurel crowns and victor wreaths Be for the sons of triumph twin'd : Though Song her sweetest music breathes For the destroyers of our kind ; O let them weep, for time shall sweep Their perishable pomp away ; O let them mourn, for death shall turn The proudest conqueror into clay. But here's a deathless coronet, Wrought for the holy and the wise : And here is music sweeter yet, Which never faints and never dies ; The good may see earth's glory flee, Heaven's ever-living glory theirs, Then" path is peace and pleasantness, And they are Joy's immortal heirs. John Boy/ring, 52 Hail, gentle Echo, Music's softer daughter, Reclining on thy deep romantic seat ; From cliff, or thick- set wood, or rocky water, Springing to meet us on ethereal feet ! Yet in the soul doth softer Echo linger, It seems the spirit of departed song ; When touch' d again by Memory's airy finger, The harp note wanders lovelily along. Such is the train of holy thought returning, When sacred seasons long have passed away, By Memory rekindled, glowing, burning — Indeed with fainter, but as sweet a ray. So the lost sunbeam, in its soft reflection, Beam'd from the bosom of the Queen of night, Sheds over Nature's face a recollection, More fair, more tender, though, indeed, lessbright. Thus will the touch of Memory awaken, And bid the sabbath shine along the week, And bring again sweet moments long forsaken, And altars which the spirit fain would seek — Of holy converse and of high communion, Of praise celestial, and of ardent prayer, 58 Of sacred mystery, and the blessed union Of hearts which glow'd in our possession there. How doubly blest ! first in the full possessing, And after in reflected life and light ! The past — the present — plenitude of blessing, Which not eternity itself will blight ! James Edmestone. Sttfituf ^rmpt O Thou ! who mak'st the sun to rise, Beam on my soul, illume mine eyes, And guide me through this world of care The wandering atom tfeou canst see, The falling sparrow 's marked by thee, Then, turning Mercy's ear to me, Listen ! listen ! Listen to an infant's prayer ! O Thou ! whose blood was spilt to save Man's nature from a second grave : To share in whose redeeming care, Want's lowliest child is not too mean, Guilt's darkest victim too unclean, O ! Thou wilt deign from heaven to lean, And listen, listen, Listen to an infant's prayer ! 54 WHERE IS HE ? O thou ! who wilt from monarchs part, To dwell within the contrite heart. And build thyself a temple there ; O'er all my dull affections move, Fill all my soul with heavenly love, And, kindly stooping from above, Listen ! listen ! Listen to an infant's prayer ! Neele. Wtyn is $ti " And where is he ? " Not by the side Of her whose wants he loves to tend ; Not o'er those valleys wandering wide. Where sweetly lost, he oft would wend ! That form beloved he marks no more ; Those scenes admired no more shall see ; - Those scenes are lovely as before, And she as fair, — but where is he ? No, no, the radiance is not dim, That used to gild his favourite hill ; The pleasures that were dear to him Are dear to life and nature still ; But ah! his home is not as fair, Neglected must his garden be, The lilies droop and wither there, And seem to whisper, " Where is he? " THE HOUR OF PRATER. 55 His was the pomp, the crowded hall ! But where is now the proud display ? His — riches, honours, pleasures, all Desire could frame; hut where are they ? And he, as some tall rock that stands Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands, Seemed proudly strong, — and where is he ? The church-yard bears an added stone, The fire- side shows a vacant chair ! Here Sadness dwells, and weeps alone, And Death displays his banners there : The life has gone, the breath has fled, And what has been, no more shah be : The well-known form, the welcome ti ead, Oh ! where are they, and where is he ? Neelb. Blest hour ! when mortal man retires To hold communion with his God, To send to heaven his warm desires, And listen to his sacred word. 56 THE HOUR OF PRAYER. Blest hour ! when earthly cares resign Their empire o'er his anxious breast; While all around, the calm divine Proclaims the holy day of rest. Blest hour ! when God himself draws nigh, Well pleased his people's voice to hear ; To list the penitential sigh, And wipe away the mourner's tear, Blest hour ! — for then where He resorts, Foretastes of future bliss are given, And mortals find his earthly courts The House of God — the Gate of Heaven. Hail ! peaceful hour, supremely blest Amid the hours of earthly care ! The hour that yields the spirit rest, That sacred hour — the hour of prayer. And when my hours of prayer are past, Oh ! may I leave these Sabbath days, To find eternity at last A never-ending hour of praise ! Rev. T. Raffles. 57 €\t IjgtrartiuD if IwmotjiBrii The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, An d his cohorts were gleaming with purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest which Summer is green, That host with its banners at sun-set was seen : Like the leaves of the forest which Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill ; And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 58 PRAYER. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail , And the tents are all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! Byron. ^trapr. Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, Utter' d or unexpressed ; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, — The falling of a tear, — The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; PRAYER. 59 Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian'^ vital breath — The Christian's native air, His watch- word at the gates of death,— He enters Heaven with prayer. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways, While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry " Behold he prays V The saints in prayer appear as one In word, and deed, and mind, When with the Father, Spirit, Son, Sw T eet fellowship they find. Nor prayer is heard on earth alone ; The Holy Spirit pleads, And Jesus on the eternal throne, For mourners intercedes. O Thou by whom we come to God ! The Life— the Truth— the Way ! The path of prayer thyself hast trod,— Lord, teach us how to pray ! J. Montgomery. 60 Itattjns. On receiving from Dr. Rush of Philadelphia, a piece of the Tree under which William Penn made his Treaty with the Indians, con- verted to the purpose of an Inkstand. From clime to clime, from shore to shore, The war-fiend raised his hated yell, And midst the storms that realms deplore Penn's honoured tree of concord fell; And of that tree, that ne'er again Shall Spring's reviving influence know, A relic o'er the Atlantic main, Was sent — the gift of foe to foe. But though no more its ample shade Waves green beneath Columbia's sky ; Though every branch be now decayed, And all its scattered leaves be dry ; Yet mid the relic's sainted space, A health-restoring flood shall spring, In which the angel form of Peace May stoop to dip her dove-like wing. So once the staff the prophet bore, By wondering eyes again was seen To swell with life through every pore, And bud afresh with foliage green. THE GRAVE. 61 The withered branch again shall grow, Till o'er the earth its shade extend — And this — the gift of foe to foe — Becomes the gift from friend to friend. W. Roscoe. €§t tatt. O Grave, thou hast thy victory ! Beauty and strength are laid with thee; Thus is it in each distant clime ; Thus was it in the ancient time. The prophets of all former days ; All who win honour, love, and praise, The winning tongue, the arm of might, The bard whose soul is love and light, The patriot king, the wise, the brave, Are ever mouldering in the grave. O Grave, thou hast thy victory ! The desert sands are sown by thee ; And years must pass in misery steeped, Ere that dread harvest will be reaped ; The desert air is parched and dry, And thousands have laid down to die ; The traveller's steps grow slow and faint, His kind hear not his last complaint, f 2 62 . THE GRAVE. See not his last convulsive start, As Death is busy at his heart ; His grave is in the burning sand, His memory in his native land. Of old thou hadst thy victory ! And Cheops nobly built for thee ; Raising thy trophy in the pile, That casts its shadow many a mile. Thine was the gain when rose on high The Egyptian mother's midnight cry ; And when God's angel with the blast Of death among the Assyrians passed ; When the unnumbered Persians lay On Sal amis at break of day; And when, mid revelry, came down Darkness on the Italian town — O Grave, thou hadst thy victory I Thine are the isles, and thine the sea; The hoary hills are all thine own, With the grey cairn and cromlech stone, And groves of oak and woods of pine, And the dim ocean's caves are thine. Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath The untilled verdure of the heath ; And in the field thy ardent race Outstrips the hunter in the chase; The mariner finds no unknown bay, But there thou lurkest for thy prey. THE GKAVE. 63 O Grave, what woe is wrought by thee! What clouded years of misery ! What loving hearts hast thou bereft: What joyless, hopeless mourners left; Young Innocence without a guide, Beset with snares on every side ; Age, with white hairs and chilled blood, Pining in friendless solitude! Yet, than earth's mightiest mightier, O Grave thou hast thy Vanquisher, Long in thy night was man forlorn, Long didst thou laugh his hope to scorn; Vainly Philosophy might dream, Her light was but the meteor gleam, Till rose the Conqueror of Death, — The humble man of Nazareth : He stood between us and despair, He bore, and gave us strength to bear; The mysteries of the grave unsealed; Our glorious destiny revealed; . Nor sage nor bard may comprehend The heaven of rest to which we tend. Our home is not this mortal clime; Our life hath not its bounds in time : And death is but the cloud that lies Between our souls and paradise. O Grave ! well might each thoughtful race Give thee the high and holy place : 64 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. Mountains and Groves were meet for thee, Thou portal of eternity ! Mary Howitt. How fair and how lovely it is to behold The sun in its splendour approaching the west, Its race is near run, and refulgent as gold, It glides through the ether as hastening to rest. It sinks, — but in sinking 'tis only to rise, Its splendour and glory afresh to display; It sets, — but in other and far distant skies, It rises and reigns in the brightness of day. Yet far more resplendent than this is the scene Of the good man approaching the confines of time. All loving, all peaceful, all calm and serene, He passes away with a brightness sublime, He dies, — but no pencil can ever display, The splendour and glory that burst on his sight, As guided by angels he speeds on his way, Through the portals of praise to the temple of light. J. Harris. 65 €jn labktjr. What spell has o'er the populous city past ! The wonted current of its life is stayed : Its sports, its gainful schemes, are earthward cast, As though their vileness were at once displayed; The roar of trade has ceased, and on the air Come holy songs and solemn sounds of prayer. Far spreads the charm ! from every hamlet spire A note of rest and heavenward thought is pealed: By his calm hearth reclines the peasant sire; The toil-worn steed basks in the breezy field. Within, without, through farm and cottage blest, 'Tis one bright day of gladness and of rest. Down from the mountain dwellings, while the dew Shines on the heath-bells, and the fern is bending In the fresh breeze, in festive garbs I view Childhood and age and buoyant youth descending. God ! who has piled thy wonders round their home, 'Tis in thy love they to the temple come. A stately ship speeds o'er the mighty main — O, many a league from our own happy land ; Yet from its heart ascends the choral strain; For there its little isolated band, Amid the ocean desert's awful roar Praise Him whose love links shore to distant shore. 66 THE SABBATH. O'er palmy woods where summer radiance falls, In the glad islands of the Indian main, What thronging crowds the missionary calls To raise to heaven the Christian's glorious strain. Lo ! where, engirt by children of the sun, Stands the white man, and counts his vict'ries won, In the fierce deserts of a distant zone, Mid savage nations terrible and stern, A lonely atom, severed from his own, The traveller wends, death or renown to earn. Parched, fasting, wearied, verging to despair, He kneels, he prays — hope kindles in his prayer. O'er the wide world, blest day, thine influence flies ! Rest o'er the sufferer spreads her balmy wings ; Love wakes, joy dawns, praise fills the listening skies ; Th' expanding heart from earth's enchantment springs : — Heaven for one day withdraws its ancient ban, Unbars its gates, and dwells once more with man. William Howitt. 67 Birimtf #mtg. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! Jehovah has triumphed — his people are free ! Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken — His chariots, hishorsemen, all splendid and brave ; How vain was their boasting ! the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea : Jehovah has triumph' d — his people are free ! Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword ! Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride ? For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea : Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! Moore. 68 ^rinfoai ttajjtp. Though glorious, O God ! must thy temple have been On the day of its first dedication, When the cherubim's wings widely waving were seen On high o'er the ark's holy station ; When even the chosen of Levi, though skiil'd To minister, standing before Thee, Eetired from the cloud which the temple then fill'd, And thy glory made Israel adore Thee : Though awfully grand was thy majesty then ; Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, Less splendid in pomp to the vision of man, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses. And by whom was that ritual for ever repeal'd? But by Him unto whom it was given To enter the oracle where is reveal' d, Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven. Who, having once entered, hath shown us the way, O Lord, how to worship before thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and truth to adore thee ! SPIRITUAL WORSHIP. 69 This, this is the worship the Saviour made known When she of Samaria found him, By the patriarch's well, sitting weary, alone, With the stillness of noontide around him. How sublime, yet how simple the homage he taught To her who enquired by that fountain, If Jehovah at Solyma's shrine would be sought ? Or adored on Samaria's mountain ? " Woman, believe me, the hour is near, When He, if ye rightly would hail him, Will neither be worshipped exclusively here, Nor yet at the altar of Salem. " For God is a Spirit ! and they, who aright Would perform the pure worship he loveth, In the heart's holy temple will seek with delight That spirit the Father appro veth." And many that prophecy's truth can declare, Whose bosoms have Jivingly known it : Whom God hath instructed to worship him there, And convinced that his mercy will own it. The temple that Solomon built to his name, Now lives but in history's story; Extinguish' d long since is its altar's bright flame And vanished each glimpse of its glory. G 70 ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT. But the Christian, made wise by a wisdom divine, Though all human fabrics may falter, Still finds in his heart a far holier shrine, Where the fire burns unquench'd on the altar. Barton. Come, Disappointment, come ! Not in thy terrors clad ; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; The chastening rod but terrifies The restless and the bad. But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow resigned The peaceful cypress twine. Though Fancy flies away Before thy hollow tread ; Yet meditation, in her cell, Hears with faint ear the lingering knell, That tells her hopes are dead. And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say, " My all was not laid here." ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT, 71 Come, Disappointment, come! Though from Hope's summit hurl'd; Still, rigid nurse, thou art forgiven, For thou severe wert sent from heaven, To turn mine eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss That never, never die. What is this passing scene ? A peevish April day — A little sun, a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away, Man (soon discussed) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears Lie with him in the dust. O, what is beauty's power ? It flourishes and dies : Will the cold earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath its surface lies ? Mute, mute is all O'er beauty's fall ; Her praise resounds no more, When mantled in her pall 72 ODE TO DISAPPOINTMENT. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day : So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away, Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb The form beloved is laid. Then since this world is vain, And volatile and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys, Where rust corrupts and moth destroys ? Why fly from ill, With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, This throbbing heart be still ? Come, Disappointment, come ! Thou art not stern to me : Sad monitress, I own thy sway, A votary sad, in early day, I bend my knee to thee. From sun to sun My race will run, I only bow, and say, " My God, thy will be done." H. K. White. 73 €\t MMtig tni Now Nature wears her vernal hue ; Again will poets sing Of " daisies pied and violets blue," And all the charms of spring. The budding leaves with joy we see, And former bliss recall ; But O, what may our feelings be, When these young leaves shall fall ? Then hearts, which now are throbbing high With hopes that wildly soar, May heave sad disappointment's sigh And learn to hope no more : The maid, whose eyes, whose smiles, whose bloom Are soft enchantment all, May sink, love's victim, in the tomb, When these young leaves shall fall. The mind whose energy and fire Shines through the sparkling eye, May then — O fate forlorn and dire ! A wreck, a ruin lie : Its reason fled, its judgment lost, While fancied fears appal, In whirls of stormy passion toss'd When these young leaves shall fall. g2 74 THE BUDDING LEAF. And many a one, whose soul is twined With a soul of kindred truth, Whose passion, ardent, yet refined, Survives the charms of youth. May sadly mourn love's broken tie Within the lonely hall, And heave the solitary sigh, When these young leaves shall fall. man ! thy date of joy is brief, More brief is pleasure's hour — It withers like the blighted leaf, Fades like the gather'd flower. The view is awful, yet sublime, Of earth's still changeful ball ; 1 shrink while musing on the time When these young leaves shall fall. But hark ! I hear an airy voice Soft whispering in my ear — "Thou who dost mourn when most rejoice, And saddenest hope with fear, Thy worldly cares and woes may rest Within the churchyard wall, And dark weeds wither on thy breast, When these young leaves shall fall." Anon. 75 itpira ta % x&n. Ever lovely and benign, Endowed with energy divine, Hail, Virtue, Hail ! From thee proceed The great design, th' heroic deed, The heart that melts for human woes, Valour, and truth, and calm repose. Though Fortune frown, though Fate prepare Her shafts, and wake corroding Care, Though watchful clouds involve the skies, Though lightnings glare and storms arise, In vain to shake the guiltless soul, Changed fortune frowns and thunders roll. Pile, Avarice, thy yellow hoard ; Spread, Luxury, thy costly hoard ; Ambition crown thy head with bays ; Let Sloth recline on beds of ease ; Admired, adored, let Beauty roll The magic eye that melts the soul ; — ■ Unless with purifying fires, Virtue the conscious soul inspires, In vain, to bear intruding woe, Wealth, fame, and power, and pleasure flow. To me thy sovereign gift impart — The resolute, unshaken heart, 76 HYMN TO VIRTUE. To guide me from the flowery way Where Pleasure tunes her syren lay : Deceitful path ! where Shame and Care The poisonous shaft, conceal' d, prepare ! And shield me with thy generous pride, When Fashion scoffs and fools deride. Ne'er let Ambition's meteor ray Mislead my reason, and betray My fancy with the gilded dream Of hoarded wealth and noisy fame. But let my soul consenting flow, Compassionate of other's woe. Teach me the kind, endearing art To heal the mourner's broken heart, To ease the rankling wounds of Care And soothe the frenzy of Despair. So, lovely virgin, may I gain Admission to thy hallowed fane : Where peace of mind, of eye serene, Of heavenly hue and placid mien, Leads, smiling, thy celestial choir, And strikes the consecrated lyre. And may that minstrelsy, whose charm Can Rage and Care and Grief disarm, Can Passion's lawless force control, Soothe, melt, and elevate the soul ! Anon. 77 €)t first (tout A single grave ! the only one In this unbroken ground, Where yet the garden leaf and flower Are lingering around. A single grave! — my heart has felt How utterly alone, In crowded halls where breathed for me Not one familiar tone : The shade where forest tree shut out All but the distant sky : I've felt the loneliness of night, When the dark winds pass'd by. My pulse has quicken'd with its awe, My lip has gasp'd for breath : But what were they to such as this — The solitude of death ! A single grave ! — We half forget, How sunder human ties, When round the silent place of rest A gather'd kindred lies. We stand beneath the haunted yew, And watch each quiet tomb; And in the ancient churchyard feel Solemnity, not gloom. 78 THE FIRST GRAVE. The place is purified with hope, The hope that is of prayer ; And human love and heavenward thought And pious faith are there. The wild flowers spring amid the grass ; And many a stone appears, Carved by Affection's memory, Wet with Affection's tears. The golden cord which binds us all Is loosed, not rent in twain ; And love and hope and fear unite To bring the past again. But this grave is so desolate, With no remembering stone, No fellow graves for sympathy — Tis utterly alone. I do not know who sleeps beneath, His history or name ; Whether if lonely in his life, He is in death the same. Whether he died, unloved, unmourn'd, The last leaf on the bough ; Or if some desolated hearth Is weeping for him now. Perhaps this is too fanciful : Though single be his sod, Yet not the less it has around The presence of his God. %/^>JM >4. =r ^#ti THE FIRST GRAVE. 79 It may be weakness of the heart, But yet its kindliest, best ; Better if in our selfish world It could be less repress'd. Those gentler charities which draw Man closer with his kind, Those sweet humanities which make The music which they find. How many a bitter word 'twould hush, How many a pang 'twould save, If life more precious held those ties Which sanctify the grave ! Miss Landon. €1ib Dwtlf nf it $vtl On a couch of pain, in the prime of youth, A wasted form was lying; And all around felt the terrible truth That the Child of Song was dying. But, though sunken his eye, there now and then came A flash, with such lustre beaming, That Heaven itself seem'd to lend the flame, So holy and bright was its gleaming ! 80 THE DEATH OF A POET. He knew that Ms moments were nearly spent, Nor sought to have them extended ; For the work was done for which he was sent, And his mission of love was ended. His fervid strains had been often sung Alike by the great and lowly ; And had waked in the bosoms of old and young A love for the pure and holy. And he knew that long when his spirit had pass'd Beyond death's shadowy portal, Those soul-breathing strains would continue to last, And would be — like his spirit — immortal ! " O God," he cried, u not for richest store, " To be found in earthly treasure, " Would I wish among men to linger more, " My soul cannot here find pleasure ; " But to dwell with Thee, and behold thy love, " Where Sorrow entereth never; " From this cold world, O take me above " To sing at thy feet for ever! " His prayer was heard, — upon gentle wings The angels upward bore him, No longer on earth the poet sings : — But who for this would deplore him ? William Gurner. 81 M Days of my youth ! ye have glided away ; Hairs of my youth ! ye are frosted and grey ; Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth ; ye are furrow'd all o'er; Strength of my youth ! all thy vigour is gone ; Thoughts of my youth ! your gay visions are flown. Days of my youth ! I wish not your recall ; Hairs of my youth ! I'm content ye should fall; Eyes of my youth ! you much evil have seen ; Cheeks of my youth ! bathed in tears you have been ; Thoughts of my youth ! ye have led me astray ; Strength of my youth ! why lament the decay ? Days of my age ! ye will shortly be past ; Pains of my age ! yet awhile ye can last ; Joys of my age ! in true wisdom delight ; Eyes of my age ! be religion your light ; Thoughts of my age ! dread ye not the cold sod • Hopes of my age ! be ye fiVd on your God ! Tucker. 82 There is a tongue in every leaf,- — A voice in every rill ; — A voice that speaketh every where, In flood and fire, through earth and air! A tongue that 's never still. Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused Through every thing we see, That with our spirits communeth, Of things mysterious — Life and Death, Time and Eternity ! I see Him in the blazing sun, And in the thunder-cloud ; I hear Him in the mighty roar, That rusheth through the forest hoar, When winds are piping loud. I see Him, hear Him, evert/ where, In all things — darkness, light, Silence, and sound; but, most of all, When slumber's dusky curtains fall, At the dead hour of night. THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF. 83 I feel Him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betrayed ; I feel Him in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine and the shade, And yet (ungrateful that I am) I've turn'd in sullen mood From all these things, whereof He said, When the great whole was finished, That they were "very good." My sadness on the loveliest things Fell like the unwholesome dew ; The darkness that encompass'd me, The gloom I felt so palpably, Mine own dark spirit threw. Yet was He patient — slow to wrath, Though every day provoked By selfish pining, discontent, Acceptance cold or negligent, And promises revoked; And still the same rich feast was spread For my insensate heart ! — Not always so — I woke again To join Creation's rapturous strain, " O Lord, how good thou art! " 84 PRAYER. The clouds drew up, the shadows fled, The glorious sun broke out, And love, and hope, and gratitude, DispelTd that miserable mood Of darkness and of doubt. Anon. % ^rmpt O Thou Great Being ! what thou art, Surpasses me to know ; Yet sure I am, that, known to thee Are all thy works below. Thy creature here before thee stands, All wretched and distress'd ; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul, Obey thy high behest. Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath; O free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death. But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design ; Then man my soul with firm resolves To bear and not repine! Burns. 85 %iitn 3firattttts. My mother's voice ! how often creeps Its cadence on my lonely hours ! Like healing sent on wings of sleep, Or dew to the unconscious flowers. I can forget her melting prayer While leaping pulses madly fly, But in the still, unbroken air Her gentle tone comes stealing by, And years, and sin, and manhood flee, And leave me at my mother's knee. The book of nature, and the print Of beauty on the whispering sea, Give aye to me some lineament Of what I have been taught to be, My heart is harder, and perhaps My manliness hath drunk up tears, And there's a mildew in the lapse Of a few miserable years ! But Nature's book is even yet With all my mother's lessons writ. I have been out at eventide, Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, When Earth was garnish'd like a bride, And Night had on her silver wing — h 2 86 BETTER MOMENTS. When bursting leaves and diamond grass, And waters leaping to the light, And all that makes the pulses pass, With wilder fleetness throng'd the night— When all was beauty — then have I With friends on whom my love is liung Like myrrh on winds of Araby, Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung ; And when the beauteous spirit there Flung over me its golden chain, My mother's voice came on the air Like the light dropping of the rain ; And resting on some silver star, The spirit of a bended knee, I've poured her low and fervent prayer — That our eternity might be To rise in heaven like stars at night. And tread a living path of light ! I have been on the dewy hills When night was stealing from the dawn, And mist was on the waking rills, And tints were delicately drawn In the grey east — when birds were waking With a low murmur in the trees. And melody by fits was breaking Upon the whisper of the breeze. And this when T was forth, perchance. Asa worn reveller from the dance. BETTER MOMENTS. 87 And when the sun sprang gloriously, And freely up a hill or river Were catching up on wave or tree The arrows from his subtle quiver — [ say a voice has thrill' d me then, Heard on the still and rushing light, Or creeping from the silent glen Like words from the departing night, Hath stricken me, and I have press' d On the wet grass my fever'd brow, And pouring forth the earliest, First prayer with which I learned to bowy Have felt my mother's spirit rush Upon me as in by-past years, And yielding to the blessed gush Of my ungovernable tears, Have risen up — the gay, the wild — " As humble as a very child." Willis. Culmm^ See the " Man of Sorrows" now; Cruel thorns have pierced his brow; From his head, his hands, his side, Gushes forth the crimson tide ! Sinner ! on the fatal tree Jesus gives his life for thee ! 88 CALVARY. Now his life is ebbing fast ; Soon the conflict will be pass'd ; Lo ! he bows his sacred head ; Christ, the Son of God, is dead ! Sinner ! on the fatal tree Jesus gives his life for thee ! Yes, the Saviour full of love, Left his Father's home above, Left his mansions in the sky, To live with us, and bleed, and die ! Sinner ! on the fatal tree Jesus gives his life for thee ! But a day is drawing near, Day of wonder, day of fear, When the Lamb that here was slain, Shall as Lord and Sovereign reign. Careless sinner ! what will be Then the doom assign' d to thee ? Seek his mercy while below ; Flee from everlasting woe ; Leave thy load of guilt and pride At the cross of Him who died. So shalt thou in heaven see A place reserved that day for thee ! William Gurneh. 89