THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD. BESIDE her mother sat a darling child, Wasted by sickness, from whose cheek the bloom Had passed away: her large blue eyes, as mild And soft-as lovely as the sky in June, Were fixed upon the morning star, so soon, Like her own life, to melt in glorious day; And as its pale beams trembled in the room, Her heart throbbed wildly, for they seemed to say In whispers, to her spirit, Come with us away!" "Mother, dear mother, lift my weary head, And lay it gently on your own dear breast; Now kiss me, mother-let your smiles be shed Upon my heart, for soon your child will rest, Far from your care, with saints and angels blest: Its mellow light before it dies, and sing- same You taught me, months ago, that e'er would bring Our souls so near to heaven as on an unseen wing." The mother's heart was lifted up in prayer, As rose the infant voice upon her ear: The note hung quivering on the balmy air, Like that of some sweet birdling, soft and clear; While round the child, dispelling every fear, Came floating visions from the land her dream Had pictured to her happy soul so near; Then, as the song poured forth, the warbled theme But seemed an anthem echoed from a brighter scene. For I have had a dream of that bright She stopped, her head drooped low; the land Where spirits dwell; and like the golden west At sunset was the glory of the band I saw, And soon shall with them near the Saviour stand. See, mother, that bright star is almost gone! It wears to me a blissful smile, and fain My aching heart would have it live-it shone So sweetly on it that it hushed its pain, Come, lift me up, and let me see again trembling strain Was broken where the gushing melody Was softly lingering on the hallowed Name Whose praises angels sound eternally. Quickly the mother sunk upon her knee, And from her snowy forehead threw the long Dark tresses, and gazed upon her wildly: The note seemed fluttering yet upon her tongue But she was dead!-her heart had broken with her song! Christian Advocate and Journal. TO MY MOTHER. THEY tell us of an Indian tree, Far better loves to bend its arms Downward again to that dear earth, From which the life which fills and warms Its grateful being once had birth. And thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends, THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. THE wars for many a month were o'er Ere I could reach my native shed: My friends ne'er hoped to see me more, And wept for me as for the dead. As I drew near, the cottage blazed, The evening fire was clear and bright, As through the window long I gazed, And saw each friend with dear delight. My father in his corner sat, My mother drew her useful thread; What could I do? If in I went, And act the poor maimed soldier's part. I drew a bandage o'er my face, And crooked up a lying knee; And soon I found, in that best place, Not one dear friend knew aught of me. I ventured in;-Tray wagged his tail, My mother saw her catching sigh, And hid her face behind the rock, While tears swam round in every eye, And not a single word was spoke. 66 'He lives indeed! this kerchief see, At parting his dear Jessy gave; He sent it far, with love, by me, To show he still escapes the grave." An arrow darting from a bow Could not more quick the token reach; The patch from off my face I drew, And gave my voice its well-known speech. "My Jessy dear!" I softly said, She gazed and answered with a sigh; My father danced around his son; "Father! I'm going home! To the good home you speak of, that blest land Morning spread over earth her rosy wings Where it is one bright summer always, and And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory Storms do not come. I must be happy then: From pain and death you say I shall be free That sickness never enters there, and we Shall meet again!" "Brother! the little spot I used to call my garden, where long hours pale, Lay on his couch asleep! The gentle air Came through the open window, freighted with The savoury odours of the early springHe breathed it not! The laugh of passers by Jarred like a discord in some mournful tune, But marred not his slumbers-He was dead! ANON. DEAD on the battle field True to his lord and trust, See the brave hound. Vultures, with instinct rare, Sail through the tainted air, Shrieking with lust, to tear Open the wound: THE HOUND. Still a safe watch he keeps, Prone on the ground. Eager for reeking food, Master and hound. ANON. THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. THE stately homes of England! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound And the swan glides by them with the sound The merry homes of England! Around their hearths, by night, Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! The cottage homes of England! By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath the eaves. The free, fair homes of England! Long, long, in hut and hall, May hearts of native proof be reared, To guard each hallowed wall! And green for ever be the groves, And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God! MRS. HEMANS. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? THY neighbour? It is he whom thou Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbour? "Tis the fainting poor, Thy neighbour? "Tis that weary man, Widow and orphan, helpless left;- Whene'er thou meet'st a human form Thy brother, or thy son. Oh, pass not, pass not heedless by; ANON. A MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE. WHAT can a mother's heart repay, To see her dear one tread the earth What can a mother's heart repay For later care,- For counsel against passion's sway, Amidst life's doubtful battle-fray, For words that heavenward point the All of true happiness we know, way, Mother, to thy dear self we owe." FIDELITY. A BARKING Sound the shepherd hears, He halts, and searches with his eye And now at distance can discern Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; That keeps, till June, December's snow; A silent tarn below; Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, There sometimes doth a leaping fish Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud Not free from boding thoughts, a while Nor far had gone before he found From those abrupt and perilous rocks He instantly recalled the name, On which the traveller passed that way. But here a wonder, for whose sake A lasting monument of words The dog, which still was hovering nigh, This dog had been, through three months' space, A dweller in that savage place! Yes, proof was plain that since the day How nourished there through that long time |