He spread its pavement, green and bright, The mountains in their places stood— Lord, 'tis not ours to make the sea, Extract from a Poem written on reading an Account of the Opinions of a Deaf and Dumb Child, before she had received Instruction. She was afraid of the Sun, Moon, and Stars.-HILLHOUSE. AND didst thou fear the queen of night, Bowing low in gentleness, To bathe with liquid beams their rayless night: Her the lone sailor, while his watch he keeps, Hails, as her fair lamp gilds the troubled deeps, Cresting each snowy wave that o'er its fellow sweeps: E'en the lost maniac loves her light, Uttering to her, with fixed eye, Wild symphonies, he knows not why. Sad was thy fate, my child, to see, In nature's gentlest friend, a foe severe to thee. Being of lonely thought, the world to thee Was a deep maze, and all things moving on In darkness and in mystery. But He, Who made these beauteous forms that fade anon, O, snatched from ignorance and pain, At yon unmeasured orbs to gaze, Forever bless the hands that burst thy chain, Though from thy guarded lips may press Her language in the eye, Her voice of harmony, a life of praise, Well understood by Him who notes our searching ways, The tomb shall burst thy fetters. Death sublime So long in wo bewailed! Thou, who no melody of earth hast known, Nor chirp of birds, their wind-rocked cell that rear, Nor waters murmuring lone, Nor organ's solemn peal, nor viol clear, Nor warbling breath of man, that joins the hymning sphereCan speech of mortals tell What tides of bliss shall swell, If the first summons to thy wakened ear Should be the plaudits of thy Savior's love, The full, enraptured choir of the redeemed above? The Land of the Blest.-W. O. B. PEABODY. O, WHEN the hours of life are past, It is not sleep, it is not rest; 'Tis glory opening to the blest. Their way to heaven was pure from sin, There, parted hearts again shall meet, There, angels will unite their prayers No storms shall ride the troubled air; Of evening gales, that breathe, and die. For there the God of mercy sheds To the Moon.-MASSACHUSETTS SPY. QUEEN of the silver bow! by thy pale beam, That in thy orb the wretched may have rest. The sufferers of the earth, perhaps, may go, And the sad children of despair and wo Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here. O, that I soon may reach that world serene, Poor weary pilgrim in this toiling scene! Song.-FROM YAMOYDEN. THEY say, that, afar in the land of the west, There verdure fades never; immortal in bloom, Sweet strains wildly float on the breezes that kiss But fierce as the snake, with his eyeballs of fire, And he who has sought to set foot on its shore, Its banks still retire as the hunters pursue: O, who, in this vain world of wo, shall discover The Light of Home.-MRS. HALE My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, And thou must go; but never, when there, Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night, But the hearth of home has a constant flame, "Twill burn, 'twill burn, for ever the same, The sea of ambition is tempest tost, And thy hopes may vanish like foam; And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, For never, till shining on thy shroud, The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name; And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, And how cold and dim those beams must be, The American Flag.-F. G. HALLECK WHEN Freedom, from her mountain height, |