Oh, at the time of prayer,
When you look round and see a vacant seat,
You will not wait there for my coming feet-
You'll miss me there!"
"Father! I'm going home
To the good home you spoke of, that bless'd land
Where it is one bright summer always, and
Storms do not come.
From pain and death you say I shall be free-
That sickness never enters there, and we
Shall meet again!"
"Brother! the little spot
I used to call my garden, where long hours
We've stay'd to watch the budding things and flowers,
Forget it not.
Plant there some box or pine-
Something that lives in winter, and will be
A verdant offering to my memory,
And call it mine!"
"Sister! my young rose-tree
That all the spring has been my pleasant care,
Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair,
I give to thee.
And when its roses bloom,
I shall be gone away-my short life done!
But will you not bestow a single one
Upon my tomb?”
"Now, mother! sing the tune
You sang last night--I'm weary, and must sleep!
Who was it called my name?-Nay, do not weep,
You'll all come soon!"
Morning spread over earth her rosy wings,
And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory pale,
Lay on his couch asleep! The gentle air
Came through the open window, freighted with
The savoury labours of the early spring-
He breathed it not !-The laugh of passers by
Jarr'd like a discord in some mournful tune,
But marred not his slumbers.-He was dead!
PRIMEVAL POWER; Almighty and Supreme,
Omniscient, Omnipresent, and Eterne,
The Uncreated God! at whose command
Nature and Time did hand in hand arise,
And round Thee wheel a universe of worlds,-
Descend! and magnify our thoughts for prayer;
Illume, expand, and purify the soul
With inward light, reflected from Thyself;
Unlock the springs of mind, and let them pour
The vital feelings forth in one full stream
Of adoration, duteous, as divine.
Thou Infinite! since first creation roll'd,
Thy mercy hath reveal'd a ray of Thee
To every heart in every age or clime,
Heard in the wind, or vision'd in the cloud,
Or in the parent sun presumed to shine,—
Still has th' immortal soul been stamp'd with Thee!
Oh! all that thought can span, or eye perceive,
Is but a part, a shadow of Thy power,
Creating, filling, and upholding all!
The airy ocean, far above us spread,
Where balanced worlds perform their silent march,
And seasons dwell and roll,-the chainless deep,
Belting the earth with majesty and might,-
The mountains pinnacled with storms, the floods
And streams, the meadows beautified with flowers,—
Are fill'd with Thee! and in the thunder-peals,
Rattling from cloud to cloud, terrific ire,
We hear the language of a God! and in
The winds, careering till they whirl and roar
Like rebel spirits plunging from the sky,-
We dread Thee, wing'd upon each awful blast!
Fountain of Light and Love! while Nature hymns
Thy praise, in wave or wind, from shore to shore,
The miniature, immortal Man, the grace
And glory of the Earth,-with brow erect,
Was made to walk the world in joy, to share
Thy goodness, and adore the hand divine.
Then look! Thou Universal One, whose eye
Is fixed alike on all,-with mercy look
Upon the spacious World; from east to west,
From north to south, extend Thy guardian care:
In polar climes, in lands refined or rude,
In isles remote, and deserts darkly spread,-
Where beats a heart within a human breast,
There be thou present, and Thy power adored!
And, oh! since all are doom'd one common race
To run, and one eternal goal to win,
May Thy prime attribute each bosom warm
With tender sympathy and truth; may man
Be link'd to man in fellowship of soul,
Till one vast chain of Love embrace the world.
R. MONTGOMERY.
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.
O Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!
The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.
But, Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
When joy no longer sooths or cheers,
And e'en the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!
Oh! who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom,
One Peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright,
With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
The dove let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam;
But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her
way.
So grant me, God, from earthly care,
From pride and passion free,
Aloft, through faith and love's pure air,
To hold my course to thee.
No lure to tempt, no art to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.
On yonder mead, that, like a windless lake,
Shines in the glow of heaven, a cherub-boy
Is bounding, playful as a breeze new-born,
Light as the beam that dances by his side.
Phantom of beauty! with his trepid locks
Gleaming like water-wreaths- -a flower of life,
To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky
A glory, and the earth one huge delight!
Joy shaped his brow, and pleasure rolls his eye,
While Innocence, from out the budding lip,
Darts her young smiles along his rounded cheek
Grief hath not dimm'd the brightness of his form;
Love and Affection o'er him spread their wings,
And Nature, like a nurse, attends him with
Her sweetest looks. The humming-bee will bound
From out the flower, nor sting his baby hand;
The birds sing to him from the sunny tree;
And suppliantly the fierce-eyed mastiff fawns
Beneath his feet, to court the playful touch.
To rise all rosy from the arms of sleep,
And, like the sky-bird, hail the bright-cheek'd morn
With gleeful song, then o'er the bladed mead
To chase the blue-wing'd butterfly, or play
With curly streams, or led by watchful Love,
To hear the chorus of the trooping waves,
When the young breezes laugh them into life!
Or listen to the mimic ocean-roar,
Within the womb of spiral sea-shell wove ;-
From sight and sound to catch intense delight,
And infant gladness from each happy face;
These are the guileless duties of the day:
And when at length reposeful evening comes,
Joy-worn, he nestles in the welcome couch,
With kisses warm upon his cheek, to dream
Of heaven, till morning wakes him to the world.
The scene hath changed into a curtain'd room,
Where mournful glimmers of the mellow sun
Lie dreaming on the walls! Dim-eyed and sad,
And dumb with agony, two parents bend
O'er a pale image in the coffin laid,-
Their infant once, the laughing, leaping boy,
The paragon and nursling of their souls!
Death touch'd him, and the life-glow fled away,
Swift as a gay hour's fancy; fresh and cold
As winter's shadow, with his eyelids seal'd,
Like violet lips at eve, he lies, enrobed,
An offering to the grave! but, pure as when
It wing'd from heaven, his spirit hath return'd,
To lisp his hallelujahs with the choirs
Of sinless babes, imparadised above.
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