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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-bill!

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 sbocks of corn,

abont, 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 onto 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

They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day.

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,

Their hands are broad and horny; they bunger, and To me are like a dream;

are cold; The sunshine and the very air

They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are Seem of old time, and take me there!

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 beautiful; 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.

“Oh fond and anxious mother,

Look up with joyful eyes, For a boundless wealth of love and power

In that young spirit lies !
"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 parchèd 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!"

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.

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“ Well may'st thou weep, fond mother;

For what can life bequeath, But tears and sighs unnumbered,

But watching, change, and death!"

How goodly is the earth!

Its mountain-tops behold; Its rivers broad and strong;

Its solemn forests old; Its wealth of flocks and herds ; Its precious stones and gold;

Behold the radiant isles

Strange was it, that a brother, thus my pride,
With which old ocean smiles;

Grew to my friendship so estranged and cold;
Behold the seasons run

Strange was it, that kind spirits erst allied
Obedient to the sun;

By kindred fellowship, so proved of old,
The gracious showers descend ;

Were sundered and to separate interests sold!
Life springing without end :

I know not how it was; but pride was strong
By day the glorious light;

In either breast, and did the other wrong.
The starry pomp by night;

There was another cause — we fiercely strove
Behold all these, and know

In an ambitious race;- but worse than all,
How goodly is the earth!

We met, two rival combatants in love:
How goodly is the earth!

My brother was the victor, and my fall,
Yet if this earth be made

Maddening my jealous pride, turned love to gall.
So goodly wherein all

There was no lingering kindness more. We parted, That is shall droop and fade;

Each on his separate way, the severed-hearted.
Wherein the glorious light

For years we met not; met not till we stood,
Hath still its fellow, shade; –

Silent and moody, by our father's bed,
So goodly, where is strife

Each with his hatred seemingly subdued
Ever 'twixt death and life;

Whilst in the presence of that reverent hend:
Where trouble dims the eye ;

Surely our steadfast rancour might have fled Where sin hath mastery ;

When that good father joined our hands and smiled,
How much more bright and fair,

And died believing we were reconciled!
Will be that region, where

And so we might have been ; but there were those
The saints of God shall rest

Who found advantage in our longer hale ;
Rejoicing with the blessed ; -

Who stepped between our hearts and kept us foes,
Where pain is not, nor death,

And taught that hatred was inviolate :-
The Paradise of God!

Fools to be duped by such! But ah, too late
True knowledge and repentance come; and back

I look in woe upon life's blighted track!
A LIFE'S SORROW.

We were the victims of the arts we scorned ;

We were like clay within the potter's hand : AN OLD MAN'S NARRATIVE.

And so again we parted. He adorned

The courtly world : his wit and manners bland My life hath had its curse ; and I will tell

The hearts of men and women could command. To you its dark and troubled history.

I too ran folly's round, till tired of pleasure,
Brethren you are ; oh then as brethren dwell,

I sought repose in tranquil, rural leisure.
Linked soul to soul in blessed unity;
Like the rejoicing branches of a tree,

Ere long he left his native land, and went
All braving storm, all sharing sunny weather,

Into the East with pomp and power girt round. All putting on their leaves, and withering all together. And so years past: the morn of life was spent,

And manhood's noon advanced with splendour I had a brother. As a spring of joy

crowned ; Was he unto the gladness of my youth ;

They said ʼmid kingly luxury without bound, And in our guileless confidence, each boy,

He dwelt in joy; and that his blessings ever Vowed a sweet vow of everlasting truth,

Flowed like that land's unmeasured, bounteous river. All sympathetic love, all generous ruth;

And the world worshipped him, for he was greatAlas! that years the noble heart should tame,

Great in the council, greater in the field. And the boy's virtue put the man to shame!

And I too had my blessings, for I sate I was the elder; and as years passed on

Amid my little ones : the fount unsealed Men paid invidious homage to the heir;

Of my heart's wronged affections seemed to yield And pride, which was the sin of angels, won

A tenfold current: and my babes, like light Our human hearts; their guilt I will not spare :

Unto the captive's gaze, rejoiced my sight. If I was proud, the boy began to wear

I dwelt within my home an altered man; A lip of scorn, and paid me back my pride,

Again all tenderness and love was sweet, With arrowy wit that wounded and defied.

'T was as if fresh existence had began,

Since pleasant welcomes were sent forth to greet Still he was dear to me, and I would gaze

My coming, and the sound of little feet With yearning heart upon him as he went

Was on my floor, and bright and loving eyes
Past me in silent pride, and inly praised

Beamed on me without feigning a disguise.
His godlike form, and the fair lineament
Of his fine countenance, as eloquent

As the chill snows of winter melt away
As if it breathed forth music; and his voice

Before the genial spring, so from my heart Oh how its tones could soften and rejoice!

Passed hatred and revenge ; and I could pray

For pardon, pardoning all ; my soul was blessed " I will arise," I cried, like him of yore,

With answered love, and hopes whereon to rest The conscience-stricken prodigal, and lay
My joy in years to come; I asked no more, Myself, as in the dust, his face before,
The cup of that rich blessedness ran o'er.

And, 'I have sinned, my brother! I will say — Alas! even then the brightness of my life

• Forgive, forgive! The clouds shall pass away, Again grew dim; my fount of joy was dried ;

And I will banquet on his love; and rest
My soul was doomed to bear a heavier strife

My weary soul on his sustaining breast !"
Than it had borne! — my children at my side
In their meek, loving beauty, drooped and died-

I gathered up my strength ; I asked of none

Council or aid; I crossed the desert sea;
First they, and then their mother! Did I weep?
No, tears are not for griefs intense and deep!

The purpose of my soul, to all unknown,

Was yet supporting energy to me.
Ah me! those weary days, those painful nights, I was like one from cruel bonds set free,
When voices from the dead were in mine ear,

Who walks exulting on, yet telleth not
And I had visions of my lost delights,

The all-sufficing gladness of his lot. And saw the lovely and the loving near,

Then woke and knew my home so dim and drear! Through the great cities of the East I passed What marvel if I prayed that I might die,

Into the kingdom where he reigned supreme; In my soul's great, unchastened misery!

I came unto a gorgeous palace, vast I had known sorrow, and remorse, and shame, As the creation of a poet's dream : But never knew I misery till that time;

My strength gave way, how little did I seem' And in my soul sprang up the torturing blame, I felt like Joseph's brethren, mean and base,

That they had died for my unpardoned crime ! I turned aside and dared not meet his face.

Then madness followed ; and my manhood's prime Passed like a dark and hideous dream away,

Hard by there was a grove of cypress trees; Without a memory left of night or day.

A place, as if for mourning spirits made;

Thither I sped, my burdened heart to ease, I dwelt within my childhood's home, and yet

And weep unseen within the secret shade.I wist not of each dear familiar place;

A mighty woe that cypress grove displayed! My soul was in a gloomy darkness set,

Oh let me weep! you will not say that tears Engulphed in deadness for a season's space.

Wrung by that sorrow can be stanched by years. At length light beamed ; a ray of heavenly grace Upon my bowed and darkened spirit lay,

There was a tomb; a tomb as of a king; Healing its wounds and giving power to pray. A gorgeous palace of the unconscious dead. I rose a sorrowing man, and yet renewed :

My heart died in me, like the failing wing Resigned, although abashed to the dust;

or the struck bird, as on that wall I read I felt that God was righteous, true, and good,

My brother's name! Feeling and memory fled; And though severe in awful judgment, just ;

The flood-gates of my misery gave way,
Therefore in him I put undoubting trust, And senseless on the marble floor I lay.
And walked once more among my fellow-men,
Yet in their vain joys mingling not again.

I lay for hours; and when my sense returned

The day was o'er; no moon was in the sky, My home was still a solitude ; none sought

But the thick-strewn, eternal planets burned Nor found in me companion; yet I pined

In their celestial beauty steadfastly ; — For something which might win my weary thought It seemed each star was as a heavenly eye

From its deep anguish ; some strong. generous mind. Looking upon my sorrow; thus 1 deemed,

Round which my lorn affections might be twined: And sale within the tomb till morning beamed. Some truthful heart on which mine own might lean, And still from life some scattered comfort glean.

- For this I crossed the sea : in those far wilds, The dead, alas ! I sorrowed for the dead,

Through perils numberless, for this I went! Until well-nigh my madness had returned ; What followed next I tell not: as a child's Till memory of them grew a thing of dread,

Again my soul was feeble ; too much spent And therefore towards a living friend I yearned. To suffer as of old, or to lament.

My brother! then my soul unto thee turned ; I came back to the scenes where life began, Then pined I for thy spirit's buoyant play,

By griefs, not years, a bowed and aged man. Like the chained captive for the light of day!

I murmur not; but with submissive will The kindness of his youth came back to me; Resign to woe the evening of my day; I saw his form in visions of the night;

On the great morrow love will have its fill; I seemed to hear his footsteps light and free

God will forgive our poor repentant clay, Upon my floors; the memoried delight

Nor thrust us from his paradise away! of his rich voice came back with sweeter might! But brethren, be ye warned! Oh do not sever Perchance 'twas madness - 80 I often thought, Your kindred hearts, which should be linked For with insatiate zeal in me it wrought.

For ever!

THE OLD FRIEND AND THE NEW.

For there is no bond between us twain ;
And I sigh for my dear old friend again;
And thus, too late, I bitterly rue
That I changed the old friend for the new!

MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY.

A STORY OF THE OLDEN TIME.

PART I.

“ Arise, my maiden, Mabel,”

The mother said, "arise, For the golden sun of Midsummer

Is shining in the skies. “ Arise, my little maiden,

For thou must speed away, To wait upon thy grandmother

This livelong summer day. "And thou must carry with thee

This wheaten cake so fine ; This new-made pat of butter;

This little flask of wine!

My old friend, he was a good old friend,
And I thought, like a fool, his face to mend;
I got another; but ah! to my cost
I found him unlike the one I had lost!
I and my friend, we were bred together: –
He had a smile like the summer weather;
A kind warm heart; and a hand as free:-
My friend, he was all the world to me!
I could sit with him and crack many a joke,
And talk of old times and the village folk;
He had been with us at the Christmas time;
He knew every tree we used to climb;
And where we played; and what befell,
My dear old friend remembered well.
It did me good but to see his face;
And I've put another friend in his place!
I wonder how such a thing could be,
For my old friend would not have slighted me!
Oh my fine new friend, he is smooth and bland,
With a jewelled ring or two on his hand;
He visits my lord and my lady fair ;
He hums the last new opera air.
He takes not the children on his knee;
My faithful hound reproacheth me,
For he snarls when my new friend draweth near,
But my good old friend to the brute was dear!
I wonder how I such thing could do,
As change the old friend for the new!
My rare old friend, he read the plays,
That were written in Master Shakspeare's days;
He found in them wit and moral good :-
My new friend thinks them coarse and rude :-
And many a pleasant song he sung,
Because they were made when we were young ;
He was not too grand, not he, to know
The merry old songs made long ago.
He writ his name on the window-pane;-
It was cracked by my new friend's riding-cane!
My good old friend, " he tirled at the pin,"
He opened the door and entered in;
We all were glad to see his face
As he took at the fire his 'customed place,
And the little children, loud in glee,
They welcomed him as they welcomed me.
He knew our griefs, our joys he shared ;
There cannot be friend with him compared ;
We had tried him long, had found him true!
Why changed I the old friend for the new ?

“ And tell the dear old body,

This day I cannot come, For the good man went out yester-mom,

And he is not come home.

“ And more than this, poor Amy

Upon my knee doth lie;
I fear me, with this fever-pain

That little child will die!

“And thou can'st help thy grandmother;

The table thou can'st spread; Can'st feed the little dog and bird,

And thou can'st make her bed.

" And thou can'st fetch the water,

From the lady-well hard by ; And thou can'st gather from the wood

The fagots brown and dry. “Can'st go down to the lonesome glen,

To milk the mother-ewe; This is the work, my Mabel,

That thou wilt have to do.

“ But listen now, my Mabel,

This is Midsummer-day, When all the fairy people

From elf-land come away. " And when thou art lonesome glen,

Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry flower,

Nor break the lady-fern.

My new friend cometh in lordly state ;
He peals a startling ring at the gate ;
There's hurry and pomp, there 's pride and din,
And my new friend bravely entereth in.
I bring out the noblest wines for cheer,
I make him a feast that costeth dear;
Bat he knows not what in my heart lies deep;-
He may laugh with me, but never shall weep,

“ But think not of the fairy folk,

Lest mischief should befall; Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all.

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