Imágenes de páginas
PDF

THE SPIRIT'S SONG OF CONSOLATION.

BY F. W. P. OREENWOOD.

Dear parents, grieve no more for me;

My parents, grieve no more;
Believe that I am happier far

Than even with you before.
I've left a world where wo and sin

Swell onward as a river,
And gained a world where I shall rest

In peace and joy forever.

Our Father bade me come to him,

He gently bade me come,
And he has made his heavenly house

My dwelling-place and home.
On that best day of all the seven,

Which saw the Saviour rise,
I heard the voice you could not hear,

Which called me to the skies.

I saw, too, what you could not see,

Two beauteous angels stand;
They smiling stood, and looked at me,

And beckoned with their hand;
They said they were my sisters dear,

And they were sent to bear My spirit to their blessed abode,

To live forever there.

Then think not of the mournful time

When I resigned my breath,
Nor of the place where I was laid,

The gloomy house of death;
But think of that high world, where I

No more shall suffer pain,
And of the time when all of us

In heaven shall meet again.

THE ANGLER'S SONG.
BY i. M'lellan, Jun.

When first the flame of day

Crimsons the sea-like mist, And from the valley rolls away

The haze, by the sunbeam kissed, Then to the lonely woods I pass,

With angling rod and line. While yet the dew-drops, in the grass,

Like flashing diamonds shine.

How vast the mossy forest-halls,

Silent, and full of gloom! Through the high roof the daybeam falls

Like torch-light in a tomb.

The old trunks of trees rise round

Like pillars in a church of old, And the wind fills them with a sound

As if a bell were tolled.

Where falls the noisy stream,

In many a bubble bright,
Along whose grassy margin gleam

Flowers gaudy to the sight,
There silently I stand,

Watching my angle play, And eagerly draw to the land

My speckled prey.

Oft, ere the carrion bird has left

His eyrie, the dead tree,
Or ere the eagle's wing hath cleft

The cloud in heaven's blue sea,
Or ere the lark's swift pinion speeds

To meet the misty day, My foot hath shaken the bending reeds,

My rod sought out its prey.

And when the Twilight, with a blush

Upon her cheek, goes by, And evening's universal hush

Fills all the darkened sky,
And steadily the tapers burn

In villages far away,
Then from the lonely stream I turn,

And from the forests gray.

OH, JUDAH!

BY PROSPER M. WETMORE.
Jerusalem mourneth.—Jeremiah.

Oh, Judah! thy dwellings are sad,

Thy children are weeping around, In sackcloth their bosoms are clad

As they look on the famishing ground; In the deserts they make them a home,

And the mountains awake to their cry; For the frown of Jehovah hath come,

And his anger is red in the sky.

Thy tender ones throng at the brink,

But the waters are gone from the well; They gaze on the rock, and they think

Of the gush of the stream from its cell; How they came to its margin before,

And drank in their innocent mirth: Away! it is sealed, and no more

Shall the fountain give freshness to earth.

The hearts of the mighty are bowed,
And the lowly are haggard with care;

The voices of mothers are loud,
As they shriek the wild note of despair.

Oh, Jerusalem! mourn through thy halls,

And bend to the dust in thy shame, For the doom that thy spirit appals,

Is famine, the sword, and the flame!

I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAYS.

BY B. B. THATCHER.

Earth is the spirit's rayless cell; But then, as a bird soars home to the shade Of the beautiful wood, where its nest was made,

In bonds no more to dwell;—

So will its weary wing Be spread for the skies, when its toil is done, And its breath flow free, as a bird's in the sun,

And the soft, fresh gales of spring.

O, not more sweet the tears
Of the dewy eve on the violet shed,
Than the dews of age on the "hoary head,"

When it enters the eve of years.

Nor dearer, mid the foam
Of the far-off sea, and its stormy roar,
Is a breath of balm from the unseen shore,

To him that weeps for home.

« AnteriorContinuar »