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At length he woke from that dead woe,
Like one that long hath slept,
And long and freely wept.
Yet knew not what to say,
That on his spirit lay. At length I did bethink me
Of Jesus Christ; and spake To that poor lamb of all the woe
He suffered for our sake.
All wickedness doth hate;
It cometh soon or late,-
Even from the very night
On board that was not right.
Where they were all alone,
A low and quiet moan;
To move a heart of stone.
Like one who doeth wrong,
Against a conscience strong.
With a good will or a free ;
Went slowly over the sea.
Sent down in haste for me.
Oppressed with fever-pain;
That he would not rise again, -
Would never rise again. “ I have done wickedly,” said he,
“ And Christ doth me condemn;I have children three on land," groaned he,
“And woe will come to them! “I have been weighed, and wanting found;
I've done an evil deed! -
Take back this child with speed! “I have children three," again groaned he,
" And I pray that this be done! Thou wilt have order of the ship
When I am dead and gone: -
That mercy may be won!"
Upon the Testament ;
To his account he went.
And set him on my knee,
But he spoke no word to me.
Had robbed him of his speech, And that I ne'er by word or look, .. Hig, sunken soul could reach.
“For me and thee, dear child," I said,
“He suffered, and be sure He will not lay a pang on thee
Without he give the cure !" Like as the heavy clouds of night
Pass from the coming day, So cleared the sullen weight of woe
From his dear soul away. Oh happy hours of converse sweet;
The Christian's hope he knew, And with an eager heart he gained
That knowledge sweet and new. And ever by my side he kept,
Loving, and meek, and still: But never more to him returned
His bold and wayward will :He had been tried and purified
From every taint of ill.
I turned the ship about,
“We'll find the island out."
So back unto the place we came,
Where we the child had found; And two full days with anxious watch,
We sailed it all around.
And on the third, at break of day,
A far-off peak was seen;
All woody, rich, and green.
When the mountains came in view, And tears ran streaming from his eyes,
For his own isle he knew.
And, with a wildly-piercing tone,
He cried, “Oh mother dear, Weep not, - I come, my mother!"
Long, long ere she could hear. And soon we saw a mountain-top
Whereon a beacon burned ; Then as the good ship neared the land, An answer was returned.
But a blessing great went with the ship,
And with the freight she bore ;
So did the island's ore;-
Nor found the island more.
Or what to him befel,
Is not for me to tell.
THE TWO MARYS.
"Oh give to me my boat!" he cried,
And give to me mine oar!"
Pushed from the island-shore.
Its sail a silken mat,
And three within her sat.
The little boy he sprung;
With which the island rung.
He swam the ocean-tide,
He clomb the shallop's side.
He lay, O sweet embrace!
Into her loving face.
That e'er mine eyes will see,
Unto his family! - Now wot ye of his parentage ?
Sometime I'll tell you it; of meaner matter many a time
Has many a book been writ. 'T would make a pleasant history
Of joy scarce touched by woe, Of innocence and love ; but now
This only must you know. His mother was of English birth,
Well-born, and young, and fair; In the wreck of an East-Indiaman
She had been saved there. His father was the island's chief,
Goodly as man can be ; Adam, methinks, in Paradise
Was such a one as he. 'T is not for my weak speech to tell
The joy so sweet and good, Of these kind, simple islanders,
Nor all their gratitude. Whate'er the island held they gave;
Delicious fruits and wines, Rich-tinted shells from out the sea,
And ore from out their mines.
Again we turned about,
Went from the harbour out. -"T is joy to do an upright deed;
T is joy to do a kind;
Is the peace of one's own mina.
Oh dark day of sorrow, Amazement and pain; When the promise was blighted The given was ta'en! When the master no longer A refuge should prove; And evil was stronger Than mercy and love! Oh dark day of sorrow, Abasement and dread, When the Master beloved Was one with the dead! We sate in our anguish Afar off to see, For we surely believed not This sorrow could be ! But the trust of our spirits Was all overthrown; And we wept, in our anguish, Astonished, alone! At even they laid him With aloes and myrrh, In fine linen wound, in A new sepulchre. There, there will we seek him Will wash him with care; Anoint him with spices : And mourn for him there Oh strangest of sorrow! Oh vision of fear! New grief is around us – The Lord is not here!
Women, why shrink ye
Death has been conquered
Fearless in spirit,
For the night of the mighty Shall o'er you be cast; And I will be with you, My friends, to the last.
I go to the father,
CORN-FIELDS. In the young merry time of spring,
When clover 'gins to burst; When blue-bells nod within the wood,
And sweet May whitens first; When merle and mavis sing their fill, Green is the young corn on the hill. But when the merry spring is past,
And summer groweth bold,
A thousand flowers unfold ;
And summer weareth on,
The red-rose groweth wan, And holly-hock and sunflowers tall O'ertop the mossy garden wall: When on the breath of autumn breeze,
From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down;
There life never-ending; There bliss that endures; There love never-changing, My friends, shall be yours !
But the hour is accomplished !
O, then what joy to walk at will,
They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth Upon the golden harvest-hill!
can buy ;
They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich What joy in dreamy ease to lie
and high. Amid a field new-shorn, And see all round on sun-lit slopes
They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round The piled-up shocks of corn,
about, And send the fancy wandering o'er
And servants to attend them if they go in or out. All pleasant harvest-fields of yore.
They have music for the hearing, and pictures for I feel the day; I see the field; The quivering of the leaves
And exquisite and costly things each sense to gratify. And good old Jacob and his house
No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance Binding the yellow sheaves;
to die, And at this very hour I seem
Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel vault To be with Joseph in his dream.
they lie. I see the fields of Bethlehem,
With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all And reapers many a one,
may know, Bending unto their sickles' stroke,
The children of the rich man are mouldering below. And Boaz looking on; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners stooping there.
The children of the poor man, around the humblo
doors Again, I see a little child, His mother's sole delight;
They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. God's living gift of love unto
In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless The kind, good Shunamite;
wheel, To mortal pangs I see him yield,
And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless And the lad bear him from the field.
meal. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills ;
They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of deThe fields of Galilee,
light; That eighteen hundred years agone
And weary, spent, and heart-sore, they go to bed at Were full of corn, I see,
night. And the dear Saviour take his way 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.
They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and
gem; O golden fields of bending corn,
So their clothes keep out the weather they're good How beautiful they seem!
enough for them. The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream;
Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger, and The sunshine and the very air
are cold; Seem of old time, and take me there!
They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are
five years old. - The poor man's child must step aside if the rich
man's child go by; THE TWO ESTATES.
And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity. The children of the rich old man no carking care And of what could he be vain ? — his most beautiful they know,
array Like lilies in the sunshine how beautiful they grow! Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast
away. And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best,
The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. him, With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in gar
ments soiled and dim. head, And golden hair, like angels' locks, over their shoul. He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, ders spread.
And“ what a heavenly life is their's,” he sayeth with
a sigh. And well may they be beaunful; they toil not, neither spin,
Then straightway to his work he goeth, for feeble Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily though he be, bread to win.
His daily toil must still be done to help the family.
LIFE'S MATINS. At that sweet hour of even,
When nightingales awake, Low-bending o'er her first-born son,
An anxious mother spake. “Thou child of prayer and blessing,
Would that my soul could know, What the unending future holds
For thee of joy or woe.
“ Thy life, will it be gladness,
A sunny path of flowers;-
Through weary, wintry hours? “Oh child of love and blessing,
Young blossom of life's tree My spirit trembles but to think
What time may make of thee! " Yet of the unveiled future
Would knowledge might be given!" Then voices of the unseen ones
Made answer back from heaven,
"Love to enfold all natures
In one benign embrace ;
O'er all the human race!
Be thine a joyful heart;
With the Eternal part!
And as a parchè scroll The earth shall fade, but ne'er shall fade
The undying human soul ! “Oh then rejoice fond mother,
That thou hast given birth To this immortal being,
To this fair child of earth!"
THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT.
“Tears he must shed unnumbered ;
And he must strive with care, As strives in war the armed man:
And human woe must bear.
“ Must learn that joy is mockery;
That man doth mask his heart; Must prove the trusted faithless;
And see the loved depart!
“ Must feel himself alone, alone;
Must weep when none can see; Then lock his grief, like treasure up,
For lack of sympathy.
How goodly is the earth!
Look round about and see The green and fertile field;
The mighty branchèd tree; The little flowers out-spread
In such variety! Behold the lovely things That dance on airy wings; The birds whose summer pleasure Is not of stinted measure; The grassy vales, the hills ; The flower-embordered rills; The clouds that lie at rest Upon the noonday's breast; Behold all these and know,
How goodly is the earth! How goodly is the earth!
Its mountain-tops behold; Its rivers broad and strong ;
Its solemn forests old ;
"Must prove all human knowledge
A burden, a deceit; And many a flattering friendship find
A dark and hollow cheat.
“Well may'st thou weep, fond mother;
For what can life bequeath, But tears and sighs unnumbered,
But watching, change, and death !"
Its wealth of flocks and herds; Its precious stones and gold ;