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My pensive soul with hallow'd memories fills :
When lightly on the water's dimpled breast,
The rock was once your dwelling-place, my sires !
Nor dread the wakening of the midnight brand,
Oh! if there is in beautiful and fair,
Than mine own joy, shall gaze, and bear away
But yet not utterly obscure thy banks,
The cannon's voice hath rolld from hill to hill,
My country's standard waved on yonder height,
War, with its horrors and its blood, a trade,
The bugle's martial notes, the musket's play,
Thick clouds of smoke obscured the clear bright sky,
How many a brother's heart in anguish bled
Unshrouded and uncoffin'd they were laid
Was but the owlet's boding cry of woe,
But it is over now,-the plough hath rased
The wild bird sings in cadence with the wave,
A pebble stone that on the war-field lay,
When I had turn'd my footsteps homeward far-
That guides the sailor o'er the pathless sea,
THE AFRIC'S DREAM.
Why did ye wake me from my sleep? it was a dream of bliss, And ye have torn me from that land to pine again in this; Methought, beneath yon whispering tree, that I was laid to rest, The turf, with all its withering flowers, upon my cold heart
My chains, these hateful chains, were gone-oh, would that I
My cabin door, with all its flowers, was still profusely gay,
bough, Around the well-known threshold spread a freshening coolness
The birds whose notes I used to hear, were shouting on the
As if to greet me back again with their wild strains of mirth ; My own bright stream was at my feet, and how I laugh’d to
lave My burning lip and cheek and brow in that delicious wave !
My boy, my first-born babe, had died amid his early hours,
I sprang to snatch them to my soul ; when breathing out my
name, To grasp my hand, and press my lip, a crowd of loved ones
came! Wife, parents, children, kinsmen, friends! the dear and lost
ones all, With blessed words of welcome came, to greet me from my
thrall. Forms long unseen were by my side ; and thrilling on my ear, Came cadences from gentle tones, unheard for many a year; And on my cheek fond lips were press’d, with true affection's
kissAnd so ye waked me from my sleep-but ’t was a dream of bliss !
JOHN WOOLMAN. MEEK, humble, sinless as a very child,
Such wert thou,-and, though unbeheld, I seem Oft-times to gaze upon thy features mild,
Thy grave, yet gentle lip, and the soft beam Of that kind eye, that knew not how to shed
A glance of aught save love, on any human head. Servant of Jesus ! Christian ! not alone
In name and creed, with practice differing wide, Thou didst not in thy conduct fear to own
His self-denying precepts for thy guide. Stern only to thyself, all others felt Thy strong rebuke was love, not meant to crush, but melt. Thou, who didst pour o'er all the human kind
The gushing fervour of thy sympathy !
A pleader for his happiness in thee.
Stirr'd the deep fountain of thy pitying heart ;
Until it seem'd that thou hadst taken a part
In their existence, and couldst hold no more
Beautiful in its simplicity, went forth
So unbeseeming of our country's worth, Might be removed before the threatening cloud, Thou saw'st o’erhanging it, should burst in storm and blood. So may thy name be reverenced,—thou wert one
Of those whose virtues link us to our kind,
But its twilight lingers still behind,
THE CONFESSIONS OF THE YEAR.
THE gray old year—the dying year,
His sands were well nigh run;
To ask of the deeds he'd done.
Thy brethren all have trode,
Upon thine onward road.”
As it rose and set before
As they have been evermore;
And bent the knee to God;
Defaced the earth he trod.
“ The Indian, by his forest streams,
Still chased the good red deer, Or turn'd away to kneel and pray
With the Christian's faith and fear;