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It must be so to thee, my youth;
With this idea toil is lighter; This sweetens all the fruits of truth,
And makes the flow'rs of fancy brighter. The little gift we send thee, boy,
May sometimes teach thy heart to ponder, If indolence, or syren joy,
Should ever tempt that heart to wander. ”Twill tell thee, that the winged day
Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour; That life and time shall fade away,
While heav'n and virtue bloom for ever. Anon.
THE HOUR OF PRAYER.
CHILD, amidst the flowers at play,
Warrior, that from battle won,
THE STREAM OF KNOWLEDGE.
The stream, which once a slender rill
Roll’d, scarcely seen, its humble way,
And flashes into day.
Brings hope, and life, and pow'r,
Forget not then the flow'r ! Forget not gentle woman then,
E’en for the sex, whose mighty mind
And Newton to mankind!
As is the lightning's fire,
To dazzle and expire.
A thousand tongues his name record ;
Now the death-dealing sword :
His greatness lives in earth and sky,
And tracks the pathless flood :
Is only to be good.
Yet well to her the skill is giv'n,
TO READ the way to Heav'n.
Brings hope, and life, and pow'r
Oh ! bathe the lovely flow'r! Miss Mitford.
THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR.
“AND wherefore do the Poor complain ?”
The rich man ask'd of me.“Come, walk abroad with me,” I said,
“And I will answer thee.”
Were cheerless to behold;
And yet we were a-cold.
His locks were few and white;
In that cold winter's night? 'Twas bitter keen, indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he; And therefore he had come abroad
To ask for charity.
We met a young bare-footed child,
And she begg'd loud and bold; I ask'd her what she did abroad
When the wind it blew so cold?
And he lay sick in bed ;
Abroad, to beg for bread.
Upon a stone to rest;
And another at her breast.
When the wind it was so chill ?
That scream'd behind, be still.
A soldier far away;
Was begging back her way.
For silently stood he;
And these have answer'd thee.”
THE WITHERED LEAVES.
“ We all do fade as a leaf.”—Isaiah lxiv. 6. See the leaves around us falling,
Dry and wither'd to the ground;
Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,
In a sad and solemn sound :Sons of Adam, once in Eden
Blighted, when like us he fell, Hear the lecture we are reading,
'Tis, alas ! the truth we tell. Virgins, much, too much presuming
On your boasted white and red, View us, late in beauty blooming,
Number'd now among the dead. Griping misers, nightly waking,
See the end of all your care; Fled on wings of our own making,
We have left our owners bare. Sons of honour, fed on praises,
Flutt'ring high in fancied worth, Lo! the fickle air that raises,
Brings us down to parent earth. Youths, though yet no losses grieve you,
Gay in health and manly grace, Let no cloudless skies deceive you,
Summer gives to autumn place. Venerable sires, grown hoary,
Hither turn th' unwilling eye; Think amidst your falling glory,
Autumn tells a winter nigh.
Messengers of shortest stay,
“ Heav'n and earth shall pass away."