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No mingling voices sound ;
An infant wail alone,
The parting groan !
Burst are the prison bars :
Beyond the stars !
There lies the soulless clod;
Wakes with his God.
NOTHING TO DO.
By Rev. W. J. MATHAMS. Nothing to do ! in a world like this,
With thousands round us dying; Nothing to do! when at every turn
Children for bread are crying. Nothing to do! while widows weep
O'er those now past returning;
Too little to be earning.
Is trampled down in the dust;
And the good old plough doth rust.
To spill the blood of brothers ;
Of broken-hearted mothers.
Of him in fever raging,
His inward fires assuaging.
Is spurned for the sake of gold ;
Like cattle are bought and sold.
Nothing to do! while the drunken fool
Reels back to his cheerless home,
And in murder seals his doom.
Nothing to do ! while banks do break,
And thieves are great and high;
In penury weep and die.
For words of the better life,
And end their years of strife.
As not to feel their blindness ?
To do a deed of kindness ?
Nothing to do! oh, basest lie
Which blasts the lips with a curse ;
Himself shall suffer worse.
Nothing to do ! say, wilt thou dare,
With the judgment-throne in view,
"Oh God, I had nothing to do”?
THE DISSIPATED HUSBAND. He comes not; I have watch'd the moon go down, But yet he comes not. Once it was not so ; He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow, The while he holds his riot in the town. Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep, And he will wake my infant from its sleep, To blend its feeble wailing with my tears ; Oh ! how I love a mother's watch to keep Over those sleeping eyes, that smile which cheers My heart, though sunk in sorrow fix'd and deep. I had a husband once who lov'd me; now He ever wears a frown upon his brow, And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip, As bees from laurel-flowers a poison sip;
But yet I cannot hate. Oh! there were hours
WIDOW AT HER DAUGHTER'S BRIDAL.
L. H. SIGOURNEY.
The young bird from its nest away,
She gaily carolled day by day ;
From whence her timid wing doth soar;
Yet hear her gushing song no more. Deal gently with her; thou art dear,
Beyond what vestal lips have told, And, like a lamb from fountains clear,
She turns confiding to thy fold ; She, round thy sweet domestic bower
The wreaths of changeless love shall twine, Watch for thy step at vesper hour,
And blend her holiest prayer with thine. Deal gently thou, when, far away,
’Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove, Nor let thy tender care decay
The soul of woman lives in love ;
Unconscious, from her eyelids break,
That man's strong heart may no'er partake,
A mother yields her gem to thee,
On thy true breast to sparkle rare ;
The idol of her fondest care :
When Judgment wakes in terror wild,
HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.
BY MRS. HEMANS. It is recorded of Henry I., that, after the death of his son, Prince William, who perished by shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile.
The barque that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves roll’d on;
To him that wept a son ?
Ere sorrow break its chain :
He never smiled again!
The stately and the brave ;
That one beneath the wave ?
In pleasure's reckless train ;
He never smiled again !
He heard the minstrel sing ;
Amidst the knightly ring ;
Was blent with every strain,
He never smiled again !
Of vows once fondly pour’d,
At many a joyous board ;
Graves, which true love had bath'd with tears,
Were left to heaven's bright rain ;
He never smiled again !
THE DYING SAILOR.
By G. CRABBE, He call'd his friend, and prefaced with a sigh A lover's message : “Thomas, I must die. Would I could see my Sally, and could rest My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, And, gazing, go! If not, this trifle take, And say till death I wore it for her sake : Yes; I must die. Blow on, sweet breeze, blow on ! Give me one look before my life be gone ; Oh ! give me that, and let me not despair, One last fond look, and now repeat the prayer.” He had his wish-had more. I will not paint The lovers' meeting : she beheld him faintWith tender fears she took a nearer view, Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew; He tried to smile, and, half-succeeding, said, “Yes, I must die ;" and hope for ever fled. Still long she nurs'd him ; tender thoughts, meantime, Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime. To her he came to die, and every day She took some portion of the dread away : With him she pray'd, to him his Bible read, Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching head; She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer ; Apart, she sigh'd ; alone, she shed the tear ; Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave. One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot ; They spoke with cheerfulness, and seemed to think, Yet said not so, “ Perhaps he will not sink ;" A sudden brightness in his look appear'd, A sudden vigour in his voice was heard. She had been reading in the book of prayer, And led him forth, and placed him in his chair : Lively he seem'd, and spoke of all he knew, The friendly many and the favourite few;