I would that thus, when I shall see MY DOVES.- Miss Barrett. My little doves have left a nest Whose leaves fantastic take their rest Or motion from the sea; For ever there the sea winds go, With sunlit faces, to and fro. The tropic flowers looked up to it, And glittering eyes, that showed their right And God them taught, at every close Of water far, and wind, Fit ministers! of living loves In such sweet monotone as clings My little doves were taken away The sky and wave by warmth and blue! And now within the city prison, With sudden upward look they listen The stir without the glow of passion,- The gold and silver's dreary clashing The wheeled pomp, the pauper tread,- Yet still, as on my human hand What human musings mean, eyne Their chant is soft as on the nest For love, that stirred it in their breast, And, 'neath the city's shade, can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love, that keeps the music, fills All flowings from the wave and wind, So teach ye me the wisest part, And vocal with such songs as own To me fair memories belong For no regret, but present song, And lasting thankfulness,- And very soon to break away, I will have hopes that cannot fade, My spirit and my God shall be TROUBADOUR SONG. Mrs. Hemans. THE warrior crossed the ocean's foam His voice was heard where javelin-showers Poured on the steel-clad line; Her step was 'midst the summer-flowers, Her seat beneath the vine. His shield was cleft, his lance was riven, And the red blood stained his crest; While she the gentlest wind of heaven Might scarcely fan her breast. Yet a thousand arrows passed him by, As roses die, when the blast is come For all things bright and fair, There was death within the smiling home, How had death found her there? HUMAN FRAILTY.- Cowper. WEAK and irresolute is man, The bow well bent and smart the spring, But passion rudely snaps the string, Some foe to his upright intent But pleasure wins his heart. 'T is here the folly of the wise Bound on a voyage of awful length, But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of Heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. — Pope. FATHER of all! in every age, In every clime, adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage Thou great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind; Yet gave me, in this dark estate, Left free the human will. |