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But words that breathe of tenderness
It is not much the world can give
And gold and gems are not the things
But O, if those who cluster round
Have gentle words and loving smiles,
THEY are all gone into a world of light,
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast
Or those faint beams in which the hill is dress'd
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my daysMy days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays.
Oh, holy hope and high humility !—
These are your walks, and ye have show'd them To kindle my cold love.
Dear beauteous death-the jewel of the just,
He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest, may know
At first sight if the bird be flown;
But what fair field or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown.
And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
And into glory peep.
COMMON DUTIES HALLOWED.
IF on our daily course, our mind
Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,
As for some dear familiar strain
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
Oh! could we learn that sacrifice,
How would our hearts with wisdom talk
We need not bid for cloistered cell,
The trivial round, the common task,
THE FARMER'S DAUGHTER'S RECOLLECTIONS OF THE SCENES OF HER CHILDHOOD.
Can I forget the charms that once adorn'd My garden stored with mint, and peas, and thyme,
And rose and lily for the Sabbath morn,
The Sabbath bells, their delightful chime? The cowslip gatherings in May's dewy prime, The gambols and wild freaks at shearing time,
My hen's rich nest, through long grass scarce espied ;
The swans, that when I sought the water side, From far to meet me came, spreading their snowy pride?
The staff I yet remember, which upbore
The bending body of my active sire; His seat beneath the honied sycamore,
When the bees humm'd, and chair by winter fire.
When market morning came, the neat attire
In which, tho' bent on haste, myself I deck'd, My watchful dog, whose starts of furious ire To stranger, I so oft have check'd ; The red-breast, known for years, that at my window peck'd.
BREATHES there a man with soul so dead,
"This is my own, my native land?"