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In a hard time of frost and snow,
TO A REDBREAST. - Langhorne.
LITTLE bird with bosom red,
Daily near my table steal,
MARINER'S HYMN. — Mrs. Southey.
LAUNCH thy bark, mariner !
Christian, God speed thee! Let loose the rudder bands,
Good angels lead thee ! Set thy sails warily,
Tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily,
Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather bow,
Breakers are round thee; Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.
Hold the helm fast !
There swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman ?
What of the night? " Cloudy, all quiet,
No land yet, — all 's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant,
Danger may be
Securest to thee.
How ! gains the leak so fast ?
Clear out the hold, -
Heave out thy gold ; -
Now the ship rights ;
Lo! the red lights.
Slacken not sail yet
At inlet or island;
Straight for the high land ;
Cut through the foam;
Heaven is thy home!
THE TWO ESTATES. — Mary Howitt.
The children of the rich man, no carking care they
know, Like lilies in the sunshine, how beautiful they grow ! And well may they be beautiful ; in raiment of the best, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their head, And golden hair, like angels? locks, over their shoul.
And well may they be beautiful ; they toil not, neither
spin, Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily dread
to win. They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth can
buy; They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich
and high. They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round about, And servants to attend them if they go in or out.
They have music for the hearing, and pictures for the
eye, And exquisite and costly things each sense to grat
ify. No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance to
die, Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel-vault, they
lie, With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all may
know The children of the rich man are mouldering below.
The children of the poor man, around the humble doors
light, And weary, spent, and heartsore they go to bed at
They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and
gem; So their clothes keep out the weather, they 're good
enough for them. Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger and
are cold; 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 ; And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity.
And of what could he be vain ? — his most beautiful
Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast
away. The finely spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for
him, He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in garments
soiled and dim. He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, And,“ What a heavenly life is theirs," he sayeth with
Then straightway to his work he goeth, for, feeble
though he be, His daily toil must still be done to help the family. Thus live the poor man's children; and if they chance
to die, In plain, uncostly coffins, 'mong common graves, they
lie; Nor monument nor headstone their humble names de
clare ; But thou, O God, wilt not forget the poor man's chil.