THOSE WE LOVE.

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THOSE WE LOVE.

THOSE We love are passing from us→
Passing like the summer flowers;
Soon our dearest heart-companions
Death shall gather to his bowers.

Vainly shall we list for voices

Made by absence doubly dear;

And remorse will sternly question,

"Didst thou cherish them when here?"

O, in sorrow-in vexation

In all trials, let us prove,

By the purest, tenderest duties,
How undying is our love.

Thus life's parting pangs a solace
In sweet retrospect shall know,
And the grieved and wounded spirit
Rise, unburthened, from its woe.

MRS. SCOTT

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INNOCENT PLEASURES.

INNOCENT PLEASURES.

FEW rightly estimate the worth

Of joys that spring and fade on earth;
They are not weeds we should despise ;
They are not fruits of Paradise ;
But wild flowers in the pilgrim's way,
That cheer, yet not protract, his stay ;
Which he dare not too fondly clasp,
Lest they should perish in his grasp,
And yet may view, and wisely love,

As proofs and types of joys above.

ANON.

BEST WISHES.

THINE be the love, refined from sense,
That seeks its object in the skies,
Draws all its warmth and brightness thence,
Its comfort, confidence, and joys;

And be thy best affections given

To Him, who loved thee first, in heaven.

And when thy Master calls thee, thine,
Thine be the crown of endless joy,
Where heaven's eternal rivers shine.

Beneath a bright and cloudless sky.
Those realms, how beautiful and fair!
My friend, a blissful meeting there!

ANON.

A PHILOPENE.

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A PHILOPENE.

LINES WRITTEN ON PRESENTING A BOOK TO A YOUNG LADY, AS A PHILOPENE PRESENT

LADY, accept this gift,

An offering of the heart

On Friendship's shrine;

Its worth is small, its pages few,
And what is here may not be new,

But still the gift is mine.

Lady, accept the gift,

And read, for him who gave,

The Philopene;

And when afar his steps shall roam,

To cheer with smiles thy quiet home,

This little book be seen.

XB

ANON.

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RETROSPECT.

A RETROSPECT.

THUS far life's little journey through,
Of scenes forever gone
I'll take one retrospective view,
Before I speed me on.

Here, on this little hillock placed,
A moment let me stand-
Before me lies a desert waste;
Behind, a fairy land.

Yes; happy was my youthful day;
I trod enchanted ground;

My spring, like other springs, was gay,
And roses bloomed around:

And now, though flying o'er my head
Are youth's departing years,
And often though the path I tread
Is watered by my tears;-

Still Hope, in many a gloomy hour,
Through many a weary mile,
Has cheered me with the magic power
Of her bewitching smile.

But Hope, farewell! thy visions bright
Have dazzled me too long;

RETROSPECT.

And shall I stay to watch thy flight,
And hear thy parting song 2

No! let me turn-it is enough-
Too many tears have flowed:
The sky is dark,-the way is rough ;-
But 't is the pilgrim's road:

And pilgrim-like, with staff and shell,
And cloth'd in habit gray,

I bid the smiling past farewell,
And speed me on my way.

But wherefore should my courage fail,
And strains of sorrow flow?

Why need I, through this gloomy vale,

I see a little cheerful band;

I hear their songs resound;Onward they travel, hand in hand, And all for Zion bound.

The sterile plain, the desert drear,

Where howls the chilling blast

The pains and perils that I fear-
Already they have past.

And kindly would they welcome me:
They bid me not despond;

For they a fairer land can see,

And brighter skies beyond.

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