'Tis not in mines-'tis not in mines,
To yield the priceless treasure rare
Its home is in the humble heart-
Yes, it is there.

It is not wealth-it is not wealth,

Can purchase quiet, peaceful rest. This wipes the falling tear, and calms The troubled breast.

Not he who takes-not he who takes
The blessing, is most richly bless'd:
The giver hath the rich reward
In his own breast.

It is not fame-it is not fame,
The longing soul can satisfy;

Her transient joys are not the true
For which we sigh.

But this doth yield-but this doth yield
Some foretaste of true happiness ;-

A solid joy, which e'en on earth
We may possess.

-

Wouldst win the prize?-wouldst win the prize!

'Tis freely offered-freely take,

And bid the tide of purest joy

Within thee wake.

It's the power it's the power

Of kindness and of sympathy,

To heal the wound, and wipe the tear

From sorrow's eye.

Hast thou a friend ?—hast thou a friend?
And hast thou prov'd true friendship's joys?
Doth fortune on him fondly smile?

With him rejoice.

But doth ne weep-but doth he weep
O'er blighted joys and hope deferred?
Oh! keep not back the friendly tear---
The kindly word.

Speak gently now-speak gently now,
And make the mourning suffer'r feel
The balm of sympathy and love
Hath pow'r to heal.

Hast thou a foe?-hast thou a foe?
Pause, if thy heart with anger swell-
Subdue the quick, revengeful thought-
Thy passion quell.

Then go in love-then go in love,

In tones of kindness quench his ire;
For thus shalt thou upon his head
Heap coals of fire.

Not, not to burn-not, not to burn,
But oh to melt him into love.
A calm delight thy breast shall fill,
Like that above.

Go, seek the lost-go, seek the lost,

The straying wanderer reclaim ; With cords of love, oh! win him back From sin and shame.

No bitter word no bitter word,

Of stern rebuke or withering scon,
Will soften the proud heart, and make
The wand'rer turn.

Dost sigh for pow'r?-dost sigh for pow'r?
Forbid thy lips in harshness move.

Then hast thou conquer'd, when thou'st learn'd
The law of love.

Thou canst not tell thou canst not tell,

How deep the wound that heart may feel. Beware, then, for an endless fate

One word may seal.

A smile a tear, a look, a word,
Bestow'd in sympathy and love,
The hardest heart, by fear unaw'd,
Hath pow'r to move.

Let kindness then-let kindness then,
Control the tongue and fill the heart
And count our joy most true, when we
May joy impart.

This, this doth yield-this, this doth yield
Some foretaste of true happiness:

One solid good, which e'en on earth,
We may possess.

THE POOR,

Open not your purse alone,
Its lucre to impart;

Of the two, 'tis better far

You freely ope you heart.

That which wrings the bosom most,
Your money won't allay;
Sympathy's the sun that turns
Its darkness into day.

For the body, if ye will,

Your bread and broth still dole,

Love's the only nourishment

That satisfies the soul.

E. P.

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