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Nor shrink to quit, when quit we must,
Our bodies cast away.
In sunshine, and in gloom, may we
To Him the helm confide!
Whatever may betide!
When earthly joys glide fast away,
When bopes and comforts flee,
I turn, my God, to Thee.
Thy promise still is sure,
But Thou canst find a cure.
At danger's darkest hour;
To prove Almighty power.
When suppliants succours crave;
Thy arm is strong to save.
FORGET ME NOT.
J. A. W.
(Written on being presented with the flower so called, by my Sister.) MEEK flower of unpretending hue, Of starry eye, and pallid blue, That springes in the woodland wayOr purest, ’mid the hedgerows gay, Through tufted grass,—'neath hawthorn shade; Sweet tenant of the gladsome glade, The sunny bank, the twilight dell, Who shall thy modest merits tell? Who sing thy praise in simple lay, Fair daughter of the lovely May? The stranger, as he pensive roves, When spriugtide blossoms scent the groves, Perchance may view, with heedless eye, Full many a flower of brighter dye,And e'en regardless pass the bed, Where secret violets perfume shed: Then sighing pause, while thoughts of home Fast crowding o'er the spirit come; And half forget his lonely lot, Where gleams thy smile—"Forget me not.” Of days of infant mirth it tellsOf young imagination's spells, When fields below, and skies above, Were radiant all with hopé and love;
And life seemed all a verdant plain,
And when we stray those paths along,
Forget not thou the wondrous skill, That formed me at thy Maker's will: Forget not that the fearful Power Which earth sustains, decks too the flower! Though suns, though planets own his might, Which called them from the womb of night, Not less His wisdom meets thy view, Where the green herb drinks in the dew, And insect bowers their tenants shield, —Those flitting pilgrims of the field !”
Yes, O my God! thy voice I hear
In every scene of night or day,
ON THE RECOLLECTION OF MY SISTER.
FROM “VISIONS OF SOLITUDE," A POEM.
Ay, there was one, the first I ever loved,
mind can fade Remembrance of my wintry pilgrimage
To the first grave, in which the heart itself Seems to descend, pressed down by tearless woe; While time-untutored feelings scarce may own-. Scarce may conceive corruption and the worm Reigning below the turf whereon we gaze.
WOMAN all exceeds In ardent sanctitude and pious deeds, And chief in Woman charities prevail, That soothe when sorrow or disease assail. As dropping balm medicinal instils Health when we pine, her tears alleviate ills, And the moist emblems of her pity flow As Heaven relented with the watery bow. Let pearls embellish tresses, dew the morn, But beauties more divine the maid adorn, When mourning him she loved, her tender tear, That else had blest his bed, imbathes his bier.
Ask the poor pilgrim on this convex cast, His grizzled locks distorted in the blast; Ask him what accent soothes, what hand bestows The cordial beverage, garment, and repose; 0, he will dart a spark of ancient flame, And clasp his tremulous hands, and Woman