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At length he woke from that dead woe,

Like one that long hath slept,
And cast his arms about my neck,

And long and freely wept.
I clasped him close unto my breast,

Yet knew not what to say,
To wile him from the misery

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.

It was a wicked deed, and Heaven

All wickedness doth hate;
And vengeance on the oppressor,

It cometh soon or late,-
As you will see. There something was,

Even from the very night
Whereon the captain stole the child,

On board that was not right.
From out the cabin evermore,

Where they were all alone,
We heard, oh piteous sounds to hear,

A low and quiet moan;
And now and then cries sad enough

To move a heart of stone.
The captain had a conscious look,

Like one who doeth wrong,
And yet who striveth all the time

Against a conscience strong.
The seamen did not work at all

With a good will or a free ;
And the ship, as she were sullen too,

Went slowly over the sea.
'Twas then the captain from below

Sent down in haste for me.
I found him lying on his bed,

Oppressed with fever-pain;
And by his death-struck face, I saw

That he would not rise again, -
That he, so lately hale and strong,

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! -
I pray thee, inate, 'tis not too late,

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: -
I pray thee do the thing I ask,

That mercy may be won!"
I vowed to do the thing he asked,

Upon the Testament ;
And true enough, that very day

To his account he went.
e took the little child away,

And set him on my knee,
In the free fresh air upon the deck,

But he spoke no word to me.
I feared at first that all his grief

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.

The eve whereon the captain died

I turned the ship about,
And said unto the seamen good,

“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;
And then the low-lands rose to view,

All woody, rich, and green.
Down on his knees the child he fell,

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 ;
The pearl-shells turned to great account,

So did the island's ore;-
But I someway lost my reckoning,

Nor found the island more.
And how the child became a man,

Or what to him befel,
As I never trod the island more,

Is not for me to tell.




"Oh give to me my boat!" he cried,

And give to me mine oar!"
Just then we saw another boat

Pushed from the island-shore.
A carved boat of sandal-wood,

Its sail a silken mat,
All richly wrought in rainbow-dyes,

And three within her sat.
Down from the ship into the sea

The little boy he sprung;
And the mother gave a scream of joy,

With which the island rung.
Like some sea-creature beautiful

He swam the ocean-tide,
And ere we wondered at his skill

He clomb the shallop's side.
Next moment in his mother's arms

He lay, O sweet embrace!
Looking from her dear bosom up

Into her loving face.
The happiest and the sweetest sight

That e'er mine eyes will see,
Was the coming back of this poor child

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.
But I might not stay; and that same day

Again we turned about,
And, with the wind that changed then

Went from the harbour out. -"T is joy to do an upright deed;

T is joy to do a kind;
And the best reward of virtuous deeds

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
With wonder and dread ? -
Seek not the living
Where slumbers the dead!

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Death has been conquered
The grave has been riven
For sin a reinission
Ilath freely been given!

Fearless in spirit,
Yet meek as the dove,
Go preach to the nations
This gospel of love.

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,
But I will prepare
Your mansions of glory,
And welcome you there.

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,
And in the garden and the field

A thousand flowers unfold ;
Before a green leaf yet is sere,
The young corn shoots into the ear.
But then as day and night succeed,

And summer weareth on,
And in the flowery garden-beds

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 !
My children, we sever —
But be ye not troubled,
I am with you for ever!

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the eye,

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.

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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;-
Or strift, with sorrow dark as death,

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 ;
Power to diffuse a blessing wide

O'er all the human race!
“ Bless God both night and morning;

Be thine a joyful heart;
For the child of mortal parents hath

With the Eternal part!
“The stars shall dim their brightness;

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!"



“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 ;

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