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'Tis not in mines-'tis not in mines,

To yield the priceless treasure raro 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 swellSubdue 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 hiin back

From sin and shame.

No bitter word-no bitter word, id;

Of stern rebuke or withering scoin, Will soften the proud heart, and maker

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

inay

feol. 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: @ne solid good, which e'en on earth, We may possess.

E. P.

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 mom

Your money won't allay;
Sympathy's the sun that turns

Its darkness into dày.
For the body, if ye will,

Your bread and broth still dole,
Lore's the only nourishment

That satisfies the soul.

Jingling change that like ye give

May please the baser part,
But kind and gentle words and looks

Alone can reach the heart.

Warmth's not all the

poor

demand,
Nor shelter, nor yet food :
Ye who pause, bestowing these,

Withhold the greater good.
What they want, and what require

All things else above,
Is kindly interest in their fate,
And sympathy, and love.

W. D. G.

“FATHER, FORGIVE THEM!"

Go, skeptic! Search the ponderous tomes

Of heathen wisdom o'er ;
Read learned Confucius' pages through,

And Socrates explore ;
Find, if thou canst, recorder there,
An equal to this simple prayer.

Reviled, insulted, crowned with thorns,

And led away to die,
No curse on man breaks from his lips,

No anger lights his eye:
** Father, forgive them !” Jesus cries,
And meekly bows his head and dies.

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