The clouds might give abundant rain, And the herb that keepeth life in man Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, Our outward life requires them not; To beautify the earth; To comfort man, to whisper hope For who so careth for the flowers HOWITT. 0' 15. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. UR bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lower'd, And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, And thrice ere the morning I dream'd it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart"Stay, stay with us! rest! thou art weary and worn!" And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, CAMPBELL 16. THE STORM. MARK VI. 47-51. FEAR was stormy winds grew loud; EAR was within the tossing bark, When And waves came rolling high and dark, And men stood breathless in their dread, But One was there, who rose and said And the wind ceased-it ceased-that word The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. And slumber settled on the deep, Thou that didst bow the billow's pride, Thy mandates to fulfil So speak to passion's raging tide, Speak, and say, "Peace, be still!" MRS. HEMANS. 17. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. HERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet TE As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet: Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart! Yet, it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene 'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill; Oh! no-it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best; Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! T. MOORE. 18. THE COMMON LOT. NCE in the flight of ages past, ONCE There lived a man;-and WHO WAS HE? Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown, That joy and grief, and hope and fear, The bounding pulse, the languid limb, He suffer'd, but his pangs are o'er; Enjoy'd,—but his delights are fled; Had friends,—his friends are now no more; He loved, but whom he loved, the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb: He saw whatever thou hast seen; The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main, To him exist in vain. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye No vestige where they flew. The annals of the human race, Their ruins, since the world began, Of HIM afford no other trace Than this,-THERE LIVED A MAN! JAMES MONTGOMERY. γου 19. FATHER WILLIAM. YOU are old, Father William," the young man cried, "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man; Now tell me the reason, I pray?" |