Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

I heard the captain call,

And the sailors' answer shrill;
I heard the ropes rattle,

But I lay snug and still.

At length the storm was over,
And my sickness passed away;
And so I went above,

Upon the deck to play.
The gloomy clouds were gone,
And gentle was the breeze;
But, like a sailing hawk,
We swept o'er the seas.
And I began to love

The bright sparkling main,
And the swift-sailing ship
That rode the watery plain.
I loved to mark the sails,

And see the stooping mast;
And I loved the brisk gale,

That drove us on so fast;
I loved to climb the ropes,
Like a squirrel on a tree,
And nothing seemed so happy
As the sailor boy at sea.

HEATHEN CHILDREN AT HEAVEN'S GATE.

LITTLE travellers Zion-ward,
Each one entering into rest,
In the kingdom of your Lord,

In the mansions of the blest

There, to welcome, Jesus waits,

Gives the crowns His followers win:
Lift your heads, ye golden gates!

Let the little travellers in!

R

Who are they whose little feet, Pacing life's dark journey through, Now have reach'd that heavenly seat They have ever kept in view? “I from Greenland's frozen land ;” “I from India's sultry plain;” "I from Afric's barren sand;"

“I from islands of the main.”

“All our earthly journey past,
Every tear and pain gone by;
Here together met at last,
At the portal of the sky."
Each the welcome "Come" awaits,
Conquerors over death and sin :
Lift your heads, ye golden gates!
Let the little travellers in!

LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

CHILDREN, do you love each other?
Are you always kind and true?
Do you always do to others

As you'd have them do to you?
Are you gentle to each other?
Are you careful, day by day,
Not to give offence by actions,
Or by anything you say?

Little children, love each other,
Never give another pain;
If your brother speak in anger,
Answer not in wrath again.
Be not selfish to each other,-
Never mar another's rest;
Strive to make each other happy,

Edmeston.

And you will find yourselves be blest.

MY BOY.

I CANNOT make him dead!

His fair sunshiny head

Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,

The vision vanishes-he is not there!

I walk my parlour floor,
And, through the open door,

I hear a footfall on the chamber stair;
I'm stepping towards the hall,

To give the boy a call,

And then bethink me that he is not there!

I thread the crowded street,

A satchell'd lad I meet,

With the same beaming eyes and coloured hair;

And, as he's running by,

Follow him with my eye,

Scarcely believing that he is not there!

I know his face is hid

Under the coffin lid;

Closed are his eyes-cold is his forehead fair;
My hand that marble felt-

O'er it in prayer I knelt,

Yet my heart whispers that- he is not there!

I cannot make him dead!

When passing by his bed,

So long watched over with parental care,

My spirit and my eye

Seek it inquiringly

Before the thought comes, that--he is not there!

When at the day's calm close,
Before we seek repose,

I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer;
Whate'er I may be saying,

I am, in spirit, praying

For our boy's spirit, though—he is not there!

Not there? Where, then, is he?

The form I used to see

Was but the raiment that he used to wear,
The grave that now doth press

Upon that cast-off dress,

Is but his wardrobe lock'd-he is not there!

He lives! In all the past,
He lives; nor, to the last,
Of seeing him again will I despair;
In dreams I see him now,

And on his angel brow

I see it written, "Thou shalt see me there!"

Yes, we all live to God!

FATHER, thy chastening rod

So help us, Thine afflicted ones, to bear,

That in the spirit-land,

Meeting at Thy right hand,

"Twill be in heaven we'll find that he is there!

Rev. James Pierpoint.

THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

OH! the old, old clock, of the household stock,
Was the brightest thing and neatest;

Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.

[ocr errors]

'Twas a monitor too, though its words were few, Yet they lived though nations altered ; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young

When the voice of friendship faltered.

Tick, tick,” it said—“ quick, quick to bed-
For ten I have given warning;

Up, up and go, or else, you know,

You'll never rise soon in the morning."

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And blessed the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling.

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it called at daybreak boldly,

When the dawn looked grey o'er the misty way,

And the early air blew coldly:

“Tick, tick,” it said

"quick out of bed,

For five I have given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth, Unless you're up soon in the morning."

Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While the tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost for ever.

Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;

Its hands still move, though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer.

"Tick, tick," it said; "to the churchyard bed,
The grave hath given warning:

Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a heavenly morning."

« AnteriorContinuar »