How can the bird, that is born for joy,

Sit in a cage and sing?

How can a child, when fears annoy,

But droop his tender wing,

And forget his youthful spring?

O father and mother, if buds are nipt,
And blossoms blown away,

And if the tender plants are stript
Of their joy in the springing day,
By sorrow and care's dismay—

How shall the Summer arise in joy,
Or the summer fruits appear?

Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
Or bless the mellowing year,

When the blasts of Winter appear?

F

ON ANOTHER'S SORROW

AN I see another's woe,

CAN

And not be in sorrow too?

Can I see another's grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,

And not feel my sorrow's share?

Can a father see his child

Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd?

Can a mother sit and hear

An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no, never can it be,

Never, never can it be.

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear,

And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear;

And not sit, both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?

O! no, never can it be,
Never, never can it be.

He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;

He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh

And thy Maker is not by ;

Think not thou canst weep a tear

And thy Maker is not near.

O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT

Y

BARD.

OUTH of delight, come hither
And see the opening morn,

Image of truth new-born.

Doubt is fled and clouds of reason,

Dark disputes and artful teazing.
Folly is an endless maze,

Tangled roots perplex her ways,

How many have fallen there!

They stumble all night over bones of the dead, And feel they know not what but care,

And wish to lead others when they should be led.

SONGS OF EXPERIENCE.