PRINTED BY H. A. MANN, HIGH SI.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the 3 ear 18s; ,
BBY HARRIOT S. ARNOLD,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
IN preparing this little volume-for the public, I
have endeavored by introducing as much variety as
possible, to suit the tastes of its various readers.
The young and middle aged will find subjects, it is
hoped, calculated to interest them; while the aged
will peruse with interest, the sketch of that ingeni-
ous but unfortunate mechanic, Eleazar Smith.
Go forth, my little book and breathe
Sweet words of love and truth ;
And may thy pages pleasure give,
To age as well as youth.
HARRIOT S. AnNomL
]Birthdays,.... .. ........... .... .. 9
The Guidle,.................. ...... ..... .... 10
Little Eva, ..... .... .. ... ........ ...... ...... 12
The Child and the Fireflies,. ...... ......... 13
To a Friend in Heaven,................ ..... 15
Live for Something, ......... ............ .. 16
A beautiful Illustration,.......... ..... ..... 16
On presenting a Nosegay,.................... 18
To my Friend,.............................. 18
The Book of Nature,.... ..... ............. 18
A Beautiful Comparison, .................. 20
Reading,.. ........... ......... .. ........... 21
The Drooping Flower,.................. 21
I Love to NMuse,.......... .................. 23
True WVords,................................ 23
On the Death of Little Ella,.................. 21
Eulogy on TWebster,................... .... 25
Talents always Transcendant,................ 26
The W~eary Heart, ......................... 27
Poverty is no Disgrace,....... .... ......... 28
The American Flag,.......................... 30
The Open Countenance,............ .......... 33
The Language of Flowers,.................... 33
Temperance, ..-. ... .... .. ... .. .so.... .*.. 34
To a Bird,.... ... .... .... .. ... ..... 38
Labor,............................ ....... 39
Nay, Speak no 11l,... .. .. ........ ........ 41
M:y Childhood's Home,...................... 42
Home Affections,............................ 45
The- Wanderer's Song,. ... .. ... .... ... 47
The Dying Daughter to her Mother,........... 48
I see a Light-I'm almost Home,....... ..... 49
The Twilight Hour,.... .... .... ... ..... 51
Beautiful Thought,............... ......... 52
W ishes,.. ...... ........ ....... .... ......... 53
Love, ..... ....... ....... ... ... ..... 54
Every Thing around us,.................... 56
Intellectual and Moral Power,.................. 57
I saw a Beauteous Maiden, .................. 58
A New Year's Hymn,............................ 60
Husbands and Wives, ..................... ... 61
Autuihnal Thoughts,................. ....... 63
The Mother's Appeal,.. ....
A Word to the Rich and Poo:
Vulgarity of Life,..........
To a Departed
. 0 a 0
* a e
* C C
* S S
Departed Friends,..... .......
Flow on, thou little Brook, Flow
Pretty Thought, ................
No Time to Read,............ ..
The Mother's Farewell..........
The Empty Cradle,.............
Female Beauty, ................
The Human Heart,............
The Art of Thinking,.... ......
To Emeline,. .................. .
One Friend,.......... .... .....
A Vagary, ...... ...... .... ...
i love the Spring,...... ,,,, ...
ItS rn ,
* ~ I C C*
* C CU C
S. .. o
. .. r
Beautiful Passages, -*---...........
A.Twilight Thought,.... .............
The Stranger's Grave,...............
The Mourning Sister, ................
A Sister's Love,..... .............. .
The Naiad of the Lake,
.a.0. 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 a 0 = a
. .. .. 0 0 d 0
The Sneerer, .... ......... ......
The Child's last Request,...... ..
M y Home,.............. ........
Passing Away,.... .... .. ... ...
Memory of the Past Year,........
0, Everything is Beautiful,.... ...
Acquire Information,......... ...
Lines on the Death of Abby S-...
Another Child in Heaven,........
Lines,.... .... .... ... .......
Those entle Words,............
Gentle Words,.... ..... ....o.. ...
To .,. ...... ...............
A Mother's Love,.................
Sad was the Day,...... ........
Sketch of the Life of Eleazar Smith,
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Our birthdays are like milestones,
Scattered the road along ;
That we sometimes may backward look,
And see how far we've gone.
Our life is like a volume small,
And years chapters denote;
The lines, they are the stream of time,
Down which we daily float.
And much that's merry, much that's sad.
The little bopk contains!
There's multitudes of vexing cares,
And many joys and pains.
NWhen'er we reach a chapter's end,
Should always make a pause;
With serious mind, deeply reflect,
On every word and clause.
And if we find that we have err'd,
And who is there that's not ?
Commence anew, and harder strive,
To do more as we ought.
If we our time have idly spent,
Or uselessly employed ;
Or have received with thankless heart,
The blessings we've enjoyed.
On each birthday may we resolve
To better act our part,
And bear within through weal or wo,
A good and faithful heart.
A traveler had a long and dangerous journey to
make over a rugged, rocky mountain, and was not
acquainted with the road. He therefore inquired of
one who he heard had traveled over the same road.
This man described to him very precisely and accu-
tately the right way, as well as all the by-paths and
precipices which he must avoid, and the rocky
heights which he mi-st climb. And the better to aid
him, he gave him a map, on which everything was
marked out with mathematical precision.
The traveler laid all well to heart, and at every
post of his progress, and every by-way, he recalled
the directions, and carefully examined the map of
his friend. So he went on his way expeditiously;
but the farther he advanced, the higher did the rocks
tower, and the road seemed to lose itself in the deso-
late, dreary cliffs.
Then-his courage failed ; he looked up anxiously
to the grey, high-jutting rocks, and exclaimed : It
is impossible for a mortal to travel over so rugged a
way, and to climb this steep ascent ;-eagle's wings,
and the feet of the chamois, are needed for it !"
Already he looked back and thought of the way
which he had come, when a voice called to him :-
" Take courage, and follow me !" When he turned
about, to his great joy he beheld before him the form
of the man who had described to him the way, whom
he saw quietly and securely wending his way among
cliffs, and precipices, and rushing mountain torrents.
This gave him confidence, and he followed on after
the other with equal spirit and expedition. Be-
fore evening they had ascended the mountain, and
a lovely valley, where myrtles and pomegranates
bloomed, received them at the end of the journey.
The glad traveler thanked his guide, and-said :-
"4 How shall I repay thee ? Thou hast not only di.
reacted me into the right way, but hast also given mne
strength and courage to travel it."
The other replied : "O, no am not I a pilgrim like
yourself? And are you not the same you -were ?-
You have only learned from me what you are, and
of what you are capable.'"-Krummacher.
Inscribed to the readers of Uncle Tom's Cabin.
Let all the people come to me
Good little Eva said;
I wish to bid them all farewell,
Ere I rest with the dead.
I love them all, there is not one
Whose bliss I e're would mar,
For though Our Father made them black,
HIis children still they are.
A little ringlet of my hair
Shall give them all to keep,
That they may sometimes think of me,
When in the grave I sleep.
Sweet little child, thy days are o'er,
Thy life on earth was short,
Though few thy years, the wisest men
By thee well may be taught.
For thou did'st love the injured slave,
And o'er their wrongs did grieve,
Did all a feeble child could do,
Their sorrows to relieve.
Did'st win the love of all around,
By thy sweet, gentle ways,
A guardian star to T"Uncle Tom,"
None speak but in thy praise.
Thou could'st subdue wild, Topsy's" will
With thy kind, loving voice,
Though heedless of another's wish,
To please thee, did rejoice.
Thou wert too good, Evangeline,
-An angel from thy birth-
Too good, too pure to long remain
On this polluted earth.
THE CHITD AND THE FIRE FLIES.
The dimness of twilight fell upon a white cottage
and its enclosure of trees and flowering shrubs. As
the darkness increased, fire flies came and swarmed
in the air,-a shower of living jewels.
0, how pretty !" cried a little blue-eyed girl,
rushing from the cottage and spreading out her
small apron to capture the glittering insects. Two
or threat were imprisoned ; and seating herself upon
the soft grass beneath the high boughs, she carefully
inspected her booty. Suddenly, her sunny face be-
came clouded with disappointment ; and throwing
the dull-brown creatures from her with disgust, she
exclaimed, "They are not pretty any more !"
"' Ah my little one I" said her mother, this is
but a7 symbol of the more bitter disappointments that
await you in life. Pleasures will flutter temptingly
around your path ; but you will grasp them but to
fling them from you, and cry, 'They are beautiful
no more !' But, see, dearest, your released fire flies,
beautiful only upon the wing, sparkling now as
gladly as ever. Such are, the enjoyments of earth.
Learn neither to despise them, nor to look to them
for satisfying happiness. Fleeting and illusive as
they are, they often illumine the darkness of our
mortal pilgrimage, and point our immortal yearnings
to Paradise for the perfection of bliss.-Family Read-
TO A FIRIEN-D IN HEAVEN.
Thou art gone to the spirit land,
We would not wish thee here;
We would not have thee leave the band
Of ransom'd spirits there.
Thou art gone to the spirit land,
But we in dreams behold
Thee back again among our band,
As was thy wont of old.
Not long thou hast before us gone,
We soon shall follow thee,
Where ne'er is heard the mourner's song,
And grief shall never be.
And when we thee once more do greet,
Upon that blissful shore;
How joyful it will be to meet,
Where partings are no more.
LIVE FOR SOMETHING.
Thousands of men breathe, move and live-pass
off the stage of life, and are heard of no more. Why?,
They did not partake of the good of the world, and
none were blessed by them; none could point to
them as their redemption; not a line they wrote,
not a word they spoke, could be recalled, and so
they perished; their light went out in darkness, and
they were not remembered more than the insects of
yesterday. Will you thus live and die, O man im-
mortal ?-Live for something. Do good, and leave
behind you a monument of virtue, that the storms
of time can never destroy. "Write your name by
kindness, love, and mercy on the hearts of-thousands
you come in contact with year by year, and you nev-
er will be forgotten No, your name, your deeds
will be as legible on the hearts you leave behind, as
the stars on the brow of evening. Good deeds
will shine as brightly on the earth as the stars of
A BEAUTIFUL ILLUSTRATION.
A florist will tell you that if you paint the flow-
erpot that contains a favorite, beautiful, fragrant
flower, the plant will wither, and perhaps its bloso
soms will die. You shut out the air and moisture
from passing through the earth to the roots, and
your plant itself is poisonous. Just so, mere exter-
nal cultivation, superficial, worldly accomplishment,
or a too exclusive anxiety and regard for that; in-
jures the soul. The vase may be ever so beautifully
ornamented, but if you deny the water of life to
the flower, it must die. And there are kinds of
ornamental accomplishments, the very process of
which is as deleterious to the life of the soul, as the
paint upon the flowerpot is precarious to the plant;
whose delicate leaves not only inhale a poisonous
atmosphere during your process of rendering the ex-
terior more tasteful, but the whole earth is dried
and devoid of nourishments. Nature never paints,
but all her forms of loveliness are a growth, a native
character, possession, and development, from the be-
ginning. If the sun can ever be called a painter, it
is only because the plants absorb his rays and re-
ceive them into the very texture and life of their
vegetation. So, whatever is real knowledge, wis-
dom, principle, character, and life in education, is a
process of the absorption and development of truth,
and is mere painting."
ON PRESENTING A NOSEGAY.
0, take these simple flowers,
My friend so fond and true,
I've strayed o'er hill and over lea,
To gather them for you.
And take this lovely rosebud,
And twine it in your hair,
And may your brow be aye as pure,
As lovely, and as fair.
TO MY FRIEND.
I would that thou might ever be
The blithe, gay one which now we see;
I would stern care might never trace
One line upon thy bright young face.
THE BOOK OF NATURE.
The book of nature, dear I prize,
Ceaseless interest it supplies.
The sportive brook the laughing rill,
The valley green, the craggy hill;
The forest with its stately trees,
Gently waving in the breeze,
The cataract with its deafening roar,
The waves which lash the rock-bound shore,
The fierce whirlwind, and tempest wild,
Speak words sublime to nature's child.
The thunder's fearful, crashing sound
That rends the sky, and shakes the ground,
The lightning's piercing, vivid glare,
Natures wondrous works declare;
The rainbow with its varied light,
Cannot fail to charm the sight.
Each spear of grass, and floweret bright,
To me impart a dear delight;
The sky so blue, the balmy air,
And nature's minstrels every where.
On mountain top I love to stand,
And trace the wonders of her hand,
Or, sit me down in some sweet glen,
Far from the busy haunts of men,
And nature's book read o'er ajd o'er,
And each dark, hidden truth explore,
Every shrub on hill or lea,
Every bird and every bee,
Every worm and creeping thing,
Some improving thoughts can bring.
In every object, if inclined,
Some thing to admire can find,
The morning with its golden rays,
The noontide's mild, or sultry blaze,
The setting sun, the calm twilight,
And e'en the darksome shades of night,
The gems which deck the azure skies,
Bid many pleasing thoughts arise,
In cold and heat, in light and shade,
Dame Nature -well her part hath played,
In every clime, and every age,
Let every one, read nature's page.
A BEAUTIFUL COMPARISON.
We do not wonder that leaves and trees, and
boughs, have ever been the material, whereof poets
have manufactured comparisons and imagery.
One of the most beautiful we ever remember to
have seen, was by Dr. Cheever. "See that tree," said
he, 1"full-leaved, and swelling up into the blue, calm,
summer air Not a breath is stirring, and yet how
it waves and rocks in the sunshine. Its shadows are
flung lavishly around it; birds sit and sing in its
branches, and children seek refuge beneath them.
Human affections are the leaves, the foliage of our
being-they catch every breath, and in the burden
and heat of the day, they make music and motion
in a sultry world. Stripped of that foliage, how un-
sightly is human nature. IAke that same tree it
stands, with bare and shivering arms, tossing despair-
ingly to Heaven-a glorious fluttering of life and
warmth before; an iron harp for the minstrelsy of
the wildest winds now.-Chicago Journal.
READING.-Pope, in his old age, said : As much
company as I have kept, and as much as I love it, I
love reading better. I would rather be employed
in reading, than in the most agreeable conversa-
What is contentment? The philosophy of life
and the principal ingredient in the cup of happiness;
a commoditythat is undervalued in consequence of
the very low price at which it can be obtained."
THE DROOPING FLOWER.
A floweret grew on a mossy bank,
Its form was drooping low,
The brilliant light of its eyes was dim,
No perfumes from it flow,
BmRTH DAY. GIFT.
Fof the-sun's warm beams had shed their light
Upon the floweret's head,
And blighted all its beauty bright,
And dried its humble bed.
A cloud passed by, the raindrops fell
The mossy bank upon;
The light returned to the floweret's eye,
Bright as a rose newborn.
That flower is lke a drooping heart,
Crushed by a weight of woe,
With none around to share a part,
Or friendliness to show.
And like the genial shower that fell
Upon that floweret's head,
So are the tears of sympathy
O'er the afflicted shed.
They can revive, when nought beside
Can mitigate the pain ;
Restore the lustre to the eye,
And bid it bloom again.
I LOVE TO MUSE.
I love to muse in the lone church yard,
And among the graves to roam;
For I know, as I gaze on the grassy mounds,
The weary have found a home.
Do your spirits linger departed ones,
Around your friends below ?
Do you guard us as we wander over,
Lifes various scenes of woe ?
Guardian spirit! linger near me,
Suffer not my feet to stray
From the path that Jesus pointed,
As the strait and narrow way.
When a man of sense, no matter how humble his
origin, or degraded his occupation may appear in the
eyes of the vain and foppish, is treated with con-
tempt, he will soon forget it; but he will be sure to
put forth the energies of his mind to raise him above
those who look down in scorn upon him. By shun-
ning the mechanic, we exert an influence derogatory
to honest labor, and make it unfashionable for young
men to learn trades, or labor for a support. Did
our young women realize that for all they possess
they are indebted to the mechanic, it would be their
desire to elevate him, and to encourage his visits to
their society, while they would treat with scorn, the
lazy, the fashionable, the sponger, and the well dress-
ed pauper. On looking back a few years, our most
fastidious ladies can trace their genealogy from some
humble mechanics, who perhaps, in their day were
sneered at by the proud and foolish, while their
grandmothers gladly received them to their bosoms.
ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE ELLA.
Farewell dear child, we've laid thee low,
Within the silent grave;
It was thy Father bid tihee go,
He taketh what He gave.
'Tis hard dear one to say farewell,
'Tis hard to give thee up ;
But He will give us strength to bear,
Who gave the bitter cup.
We had hoped for many a year,
To us she would be spared;
She was too good on earth to stay,
Our love too largely shared.
We had ourselves almost forgot,
That life is but a day;
While sanguine schemes for her we planned,
Death snatched her quick away.
A treasure now we have on high,
In mansions bright and fair;
The gold that this whole earth contains,
With it may not compare.
EULOGY ON WEBSTER.
le's gone he's gone! our Webster's gone,
Of whom we were so proud;
While friends and kindred mourn their loss,
A nation mourns aloud.
For who will now fill up the gap,
That he has left behind;
Stand in the place he used to stands
With the same lofty mind.
The north and south, the east and west)
Unite to sound his praise,
Who was so mighty in his mind,
to noble in his ways.
Well may our country mourn the losg
Of such a giant mind,
For many years may pass away,
Ere she its equal find.
TALENTS ALWAYS ASCENDANT.
Talents, which are before the public, have nothing
to dread, either from the jealous pride of power, or
from the transient misrepresentations of party spleen,
or envy. In spite of opposition from any cause,
their buoyant spirits will lift them to their proper
grade. He who possesses the great and vigorous
stamina which entitles him to a niche in the temple
of glory, has no reason to dread the ultimate result ;
however slow his progress may be, he will, in the
end most indubitably receive that distinction. While
the rest, "the swallows of science," the butterflies of
genius, may flutter for their spring; but they will
soon pass away, and be remembered no more. No
enterprising man, therefore, and least of all, the tru-
ly great man, has reason to droop or repine, at any
efforts which he may suppose to be made with the
view to depress him. Let, then, the tempest of en-
vy or of malice howl around him. His genius will
consecrate him; and any attempt to extinguish that
will be as unavailing as would a human effort to
"'quench the stars.''- Wirt.
THE WEARY HEART.
In life's young morn, bright was my way,
I knew not then a sorrowing day ;
My heart was light, and blithe, and free,
As ever heart could wish to be-
But years have passed and with them brought,
The burden which I ne'er have sought,
A weary heart.
Oh, I would seek some quiet spot,
To lie me down and be forgot
By all the world No, never more
They'll think of me-for I am poor,
Ah, poverty there's none can tell,
Save those alone who feel thy spell,
Thy blighting pow'r.
Yet I may live to know the hour
WVhen grief and want will lose their power ;
Again as happy days may see,
As those of old were wont to be.
If so, then let me ne'er forget
The cold disdain, that I have met
From those around,
And when I see a stricken heart,
Bowed down in grief, may I impart
My warmest aid- on it bestow
That holy love I ne'er may know,
Great God! teach me resigned to be
To whatever fate's in store for me,
In future years.
POVERTY IS NO DISGRACE.
I am poor. The fact at times saddens me; but I
cheer up when I think that every situation in life
has its joys, as well as sorrows,-its consolations as
well as its discomforts. Of one thing I am certain;
I have the majority on my side. I am not alone
even in poverty,-I have company, thinking the
same thoughts, overwhelmed with like anxieties and
tending towards the same goal in the great race of
Again; though poor, my occupation is an honest
one. I till the ground,-I commune with nature.-
Instead of the tumult of the city, as my constant
music, I hear the gentle waterfall, rolling along in
its gladness. Instead of being brought in daily con-
tact with the passions of men, I hold converse with
nature. By toil I earn my bread. My sleep is sweet,
-my home is the abode of joy. I have no anxiety
about my property, for I have none. The changes
in the money marts of the world, I pass by,-I heed
A noble independence is mine-I can look out
upon this great babel of a world, a cplm and candid
I shall not toil for paltry self merely; I ask only
a competence,-I shall obtain it.
I sympathise with the poor over the world In
the tumult of Revolution, I see my brethren rising
up till they shall gain a noble independence; and
when they shall have assumed the responsibilities
of self-government, I hope that they will retire to
their homes to enjoy the fruit of their labors. I love
to look out quietly and securely upon the world,
and see the light looming higher and higher, thro'
regions of darkness, and shedding its gladsome and
joyous rays over men. I hope that it will not be the
precursor of ambition and bloodshed.
But I am getting away from myself, and my sub-
ject. Young men hear my counsel. In choosing
the occupation of your life, select one which will
afford you the most comfort and independence.-
You may strive after riches; but you will cultivate
I fear, some very unworthy traits of character, if you
make riches your great object of life. The glory of
life is usefulness. A trait which no money can buy
---no office emolument furnish. Yes, poverty is no
disgrace. I mean independent of vice and crime.-
Eighteen hundred years since, a pure and holy mes-
senger came to the earth; no home afforded him a
glad shelter. The delicacy and refinement of his
feelings, found no response in those of his brethren.
He had no shelter for his head. The wealth of the
world was his ; but he laid it aside,-goodness
beamed from his eye,-words of sweetness and joy
dropped from his lips. His pathway was a wake of
golden light-usefulness and good crowned every
act of his youth and manhood; yet he was poor -
,He repined not, and why should I ? I will harbor
no bad thoughts, I will press steadily onward in the
path of duty. I will cultivate my heart, I will give
dignity and example to all my calling, and wait the
THE AMERICAN FLAG.
American flag, escutcheon proud,
Proclaim the gift of freedom aloud ;
O'er every hill, through every dell,
The tidings of our freedom tell.
Waving banner, glorious sight,
With crimson stripes and stars so bright,
Proclaims a land of freedom sweet,
Where nations all in peace may meet.
BIRTHS DAY GIFT.
Freedom of speech, freedom of pen,
Religious freedom for all men;
Wave, wave thou banner, proudly wave
O'er the land of the free and brave.
Hark hear I not wails of despair
'Neath the folds of this banner fair ?
Can it be in this land of light,
That any grope in darksome night ?
That the voice of the injured slave
Is heard in the land of the free and brave ?
That we sanction a system like this,
Depriving a brother of freedom's bliss ?
That fathers, mothers, children dear,
Are articles of traffic here ?
Like cattle they are bought and sold
And suffer misery untold !
In ignorance and sorrow reared,
And all their noble feelings seared
By lash and rod and servile fear,
And torn from those they hold most dear.
While we our banners bear on high
And shouts of freedom rend the sky;
We bind their fetters fast and strong,
Then joyous sing sweet freedom's song,
O America 'tis a shame
Thy banner bears so foul a stain;
The stain all nations plainly see,
They mark our inconsistency.
Fear ye not at some future day,
An avenging hand will wrench away
The banner ye so so proudly bear,
In answer to the slave's wild prayer,
Three millions of God's children bound
In a land boasting of freedom found;
Thus, thus it cannot always be,
The fettered must and will be free.
Men of the North strain every nerve
The name of freemen to deserve;
That the foul stain be wiped away,
Act well your part without delay.
Ye Southern men, we're 'tis to late,
Banish the curse from every State
Let the flag of liberty wave
Where all are free as well brave.
THE OPEN COUNTENANCE.
Give us the open, frank, full, and vividly marked
countenance, which bespeaks a cheerful, ingenuous,
eneogctic. and manly soul within, that despises self-
islmc?, ingratitude, and meanness; a soul that
loves its kind, and sympathies with their joys and
sorrows ; a soul ever assiduous for the extension of
human attainments; a soul full of a lofty genius,
and a noble moral energy, ready for every good word
and work. In fine, a cheerful, enterprising spirit to
advance mankind in all that ennobles human char-
acter, and fit man for peace on earth, and joy in
heaven. We like this plain index to the soul.-
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.
The fair lily is an image of holy innocence; the
purple rose a figure of unfelt love; faith is represent-
ed to us in the blue passion flower; hope beams forth
from the evergreen, peace from the olive branch, im-
mortality from immortelle ; the cares of life are re-
presented by the rosemary, the victory of the spirit
by the palm; modesty by the blue, fragrant violet;
compassion by the ivy; tenderness by the myrtle i
affectionate reminiscence by the forget-me-not; nat-
ural honesty and fidelity by the oak leaf, unassum-
ingness by the corn flower, (the cyane,) and the au-
riculous, "how friendly they look upon us with
childlike eyes." Even the dispositions of the human
soul are expressed by flowers. Thus silent grief is
portrayed by the weeping willow, sadness by the an-
gelica, shuddering by the aspen, melancholy by the
cypress; desire of meeting again by the starwort ;
the night smelling rocket is a figure of life, as it
stands on the frontiers between light and darkness.
Thus nature by these flowers, seems to betoken her
loving sympathy with us, and whom hath she not
often more consoled, than heartless and voiceless
men are able to do.-Family Reading.
The circumstances which induced the writing of
the following most touching and thrillng lines are
as follows :-A young lady in New York was in the
habit of writing for the Philadelphia Ledger, on the
subject of Temperance. Her writing was so full of
pathos, and evinced such deep emotion of soul, that
a friend of hers accused her of being a maniac on the
subject of temperance; -whereupon she wrote the
following lines :-
" G'a feel what I have felt,
Go bear what I have borne-
Sink neathh the blow a father dealt,
And the cold world's proud scorn;
Then suffer on from year to year-
Thy sole relief the scorching tear.
Go kneel as I have knelt,
Implore, beseech, and pray-
Strive the besotted heart to melt,
The downward course to stay,
Be dashed with bitter curse aside,
Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied.
Go weep as I have wept
O'er a loved father's fall-
See every promised blessing swept,
Youth's sweetness turned to gall-
Life's-fading flowers strewed all the way,
That brought me up to woman's day.
Go see what I have seen,
Behold the strong man bowed-
With gnashing teeth -lips bathed in blood
And cold and livid brow ;
Go catch his withering glance, and see
There mirrored, his soul's misery,
Go to thy mother's side,
And her crushed bosom cheer;
Thy own deep anguish hide,
Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear ;
Mark her worn frame and wither'd brow-
The grey that streaks her dark hair now-
WVith fading frame and trembling limb;
And trace the ruin back to him,
Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth,
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
That promise to the cursed cup ;
And led her down, through love and light,
And all that made her prospects bright;
And chained her there, 'mid want and strife-
That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife-
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, the drunkard's child !
Go hear, and feel, and see, and know,
All that my soul hath felt and known ;
Then look upon the wine cup's glow,
See if its beauty can atone-
Think if its flavor you will try,
When all proclaim, 'tis drink and die I
Tell me I HATE the bowl-
Hate is a feeble word;
I LoATHE-ABIIOR-my very soul
TVith strong disgust is stirred-
WVhen I see, or hear, or tell,
Of the dark BEVERAGE OF HELL !"
," The richest endowments of the mind are tem-
perance, prudence, and fortitude; prudence is a
universal virtue which enters into the composition of
the rest, and where that is not present, fortitude
loses its name and nature."
If men praise your efforts, suspect their judgment;
if they censure you, your own.
"4 Genius will never be neglected by the public
unless it neglects itself; it must not disdain the
humble alliance of industry. How can we expect
encouragement, unless its existence can be manifest-
ed by performances ? The surest evidence of supe-
rior talent is, that it forces itself into notice in spite
of adverse circumstances, but it makes a road where
it finds none."
*' Do not wait for extraordinary opportunities for
good actions, but make use of common situations.-
A long continued walk is better than a short flight."
TO A B IRD
Come sing to me thou songster bright,
A sweet melodious lay ;
Thy lively notes my heart delight,
They chase sad thoughts away.
0 sing to me of skies away,
Of flow'rets bright and fair,
Of woods and dells, magnolias gay,
What did'st thou bright bird there ?
Did'st sing, perhaps, to some gay one,
Who nought of sorrow knew,
Whose eyes like thine most brightly shone,
Vhose heart beat fond and true.
Did'st bid her not anticipate,
O'ermuch of earthly bliss,
N'or murmur at a different fate,
For a fickle world is this.
Perhaps did sing to some lone heart,
By sorrow deep oppressed;
Did'st bid all grief from it depart,
And cheered spirits depressed.
A happy lot is thine, sweet bird,
To please the grave and gay;
We often with a single word,
Offend by what we say.
While thou can't warble loud and clear,
Thy notes the live-long day ;
Reprove or praise, all those who hear,
Are pleased with thee always.
0 listen to me now bright bird,
One moment longer stay ;
Come, let thy notes again be heard,
O sing a joyful lay.
I see the man who scorns honest labor. Who
clothes him with fine linen, and bids him fare sump-
tuously every day ? On his back is the fleece of the
peasant's sheep, sheared by the peasant's strong hand
whitened in the clear flow of the mountain stream,
and spun by hands, if not as white, more true and
stainless than the queen's Not a rag of all that
curiously wrought colored and fashioned gear, which
defends him from the keen frost, the scorch of sum-
mer, and gives him grace in the eyes of beauty-not
a single rag is there, but rises up in judgment and
gives him back scorn for scorn. Fool and drone !
He has mistaken the true altitude of man---thc
heart-beat of the great universe itself. Annul that
labor which he scorns, and he stands amid these ele-
ments of nature nude as when born. The polished
hide which has felt the busy touch of many hands,
over which eyes have tired and hearts grown faint,
crumbles from his shiftless feet---the bright fair
cloth in its thousand forms vanishes from his
shrinking limbs---and the great inheritance of brick
and mortar, and broad fruitful lands, sprung from
the brain of genius and the hand of toil, and be-
queathed to that miserable belier of humanity by
hard, honest thrift, fly back into their wilderness
being, and the proud fool-occupant stand posses-
sionless and alone Wi ho now will minister to his
wants, who kindle ever on the rudest cabin-hearth
a fire to stay the pitiless finger of the storm All-
charitable nature moulds not herself into palaces
and ingots, and slaves rise not at the beck of impe-
rious will. Ah, thou man man who scornest honest
labor, look around and see that there is yet- some
dignity and beauty in toil. That she has compassed
some oceans, bridged rivers, delved in mines, and
founded empires and practical religions in defiance
of thy taunt. Her giant will is busied with loftier
thought than scorning thee as thou deserves Let
her reproof and thy scourge be. that thou art con-
temned by God and man. By God who scorned
not to build for himself a universe, and clothe him-
self about with angels and hovering glories-by
man, proud of his power to exalt the image and
imitate the example of God.-Carlos D. Stuart.
NAY, SPEAK NO ILL.
Nay, speak no ill;-for why should ye
Who are youselves so frail,
So quickly blights in others see,
And swift report-the tale.
What though some one has slightly erredb
Thy censure still command ;
Restrain thy tongue, speak no ill word,
Till in his place you stand.
Nay, speak no ill;-this plan pursue,
Although much ill you know,
To speak of all the best you can,
Nor e'en ill thoughts allow;
Less serenely think ye'll sleep
For having checked the word
Which from thy tongue did almost leap,
When some slight fault occurred ?
Nay, speak no ill. Our Saviour said
That ye should unto others do,
As you would like placed in their stead,
To have them do to you;
If strict obeyed were this command,
'Twould effect a change divine;
And reputations firmly stand,
That slanders undermine !
MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME.
My thoughts revert to a sweet nook
Beside a little purling brook,
Beneath the shade of lofty trees,
Where gently sighs the evening breeze;
And softly falls the vernal showers
Upon the wild and vine wreathed bowers,
WVhere many pleasant strolls I've took
When nature wore her sweetest look,
And the fair moon's effulgent ray
Had turned night's'darkness into day;
Oh, how each bright and twinkling star
Glistened from the sky afar,
WVhen singing birds had sought repose,
And dewey tears bedecked the rose.
Haunt of my childhood happy place,
WVhere oft I used to sit and trace
The rambling thoughts that through my mind
Were wont to flow, and egress find
Upon the page of some choice book
I slily hid in that same nook ;
There freely flowed my every thought,
Just as my wayward fancy taught.
O yes; I was most happy-when,
All ignorant of life and men,
I thought no ill-was always glad,
And never dreamed of being sad,
But thought to laugh and dance and sing,
For aye, as then, a happy thing ;
And fancied life one holiday,
Nor thought wouldd ever pass away.
My mates with whom I used to play,
The friends I loved, oh, where are they .
The stream of time has swept along,
And borne them down its tide so strong ;
Upon life's ocean they have been tossed,
And many in its tide are lost;
And some have roamed to distant lands,
We miss them in our social bands;
And some within the church yard lie,
And o'er their graves the willows sigh.
Dearly I love oft times to roam
To the dear place that was my home,
Long years ago, when, but a child,
They called me strange, so rude and wild,
And sit again in the dear nook;
To me it wears a sweeter look
Than any hall or mansion fair,
Because I was so happy there.
From memory's page I would not blot
One moment spent in that sweet spot.
I would I were from guile as free,
As strange and wild again would be,
As when I roamed among the flowers
And danced away my happy hours.
I would I were a child again !
Alas the wish is all in vain,
Fax in the past, with shadows crowned
I view those days, and hear a sound,
A gentle murmuring in my ear,
That bids me check the rising tear;
Seek cheerfully my part to bear,
And look to God in earnest prayer,
And He will grant me peace and bliss,
Holier, and purer happiness-
A heavenly home, ecstatic joy,
No shade of earth can e'er alloy,
Where pealing anthems ever swell,
And ne'er is heard the word farewell.
The heart has memories that never die. The
rough rubs of the world cannot obliterate them.-
They are memories of home-early home. 'There
is a magic in the very sound. There is the old tree
under which the light hearted boy swung many a
day; yonder the river in which he learned to swim ;
there the house in which he knew a parent's protec-
tion; nay, there is the room in -which he romped
with brother and sister, long since, alas laid in the
grave in which he must soon be gathered, over-
shadowed by yon old church, whither, with a joy-
ous troop like himself, he has often followed his pa-
rents to worship with, and hear the good old man
who ministered at the alter. Why, even the very
school house, associated in youthful days with
thoughts of tasks now comes to bring pleasant re-
membrances of many occasions that call forth some
generous exhibitions of the noble traits of the hu-
man nature. There is where he learned to feel
some of his first emotions. There, perchance, he
first met the being who, by her love and tenderness
and life, has made a home for himself, happier even
than that which his childhood knew. There are
certain feelings of humanity, and those too, among
the best, that can find an appropriate place for their
exercise only by one's own fireside. There is pri-
vacy of that which it was a species of desecration
to violate. He who seeks wantonly to invade it is
neither more or less than a villian; and, hence,
there exists no surer test of the debasement of
morals in a community, than the disposition to tol-
erate, in any mode, the man who invades the sanc-
tity of private life. In the turmoil of the world let
there be at least one spot where the poor man may
find affections and confidence which is not likely to
be abused.-Dr. Hawkes.
0 arOj^ ^ -
THE WANDERER'S SONG.
I am pining in sadness,
For thee, my loved home;
My heart knows no gladness,
Since from thee I did roam.
The birds here are singing
Sweet, melodious strains,
And the gay flowers are springing
On the hills and the plains.
But the birds and the flowers I
They are all strange to me;
Oh, I long for the bowers
Beyond the wide, wide sea.
O, when shall I return
To thee, my native clime;
For thee, my sad heart doth yearn;
Haste I haste away old time !
Quickly speed away thy flight
On the wings of the wind,
Till thou bring again to my sight,
My old friends dear and kind !
For I'm pining in sadness
For thee, my loved home ;
I'm a stranger to gladness,
Since from thee I did roam.
THE DYING DAUGHTER TO HER MOTHER.
I'm going hence, dear mother,
They'll bear me to the tomb,
My spirit soon will wander
Where never reigneth gloom.
The chill of death, dear mother,
Is creeping o'er me now,
I feel his grasp upon my hand,
His breath upon my brow.
Open the window, mother,
That I again may look
Upon the hill and valley,
Upon the rippling brook.
I would gaze once more, mother
Upon the flowers I love,
The -rosebud, the lily pure,
Think ye, such bloom above
No more shall I cull, mother,
Flowers in early spring,
The birds that I love dearly,
No more shall hear them sing.
You'll think of me, dear mother,
Sometimes when I am gone;
O think of me as happy,
'The blessed ones among.
My sight grows dim, dear mother,
I'm near my last, long home,
Celestial music strikes my ear,
And angels bid me come.
Earth's from my sight receding,
And Heaven's in my view;
I go, I go, dear mother,
You'll meet me there, adieu 1
I SEE A LIGHT-I'M ALMOST HOME.
The following was related of a young girl, whose
journey of life was near the end:
About her chamber glided- gently the loved forms
of her parents, and only sister. She silently noted
their movements with a mild expression of her dy-
ing eye, turning it from side to side. Arrested by
her peculiar look, so expressive of affliction and pa-
tient suffering, they paused to look upon her, whom
they only now saw but dimly through their tears,
and soon should see no more.
A feeble effort to speak, a quivering, voiceless
movement of the lips, drew closely around her the
loving hearts of that sorrowing circle. Mother,
father, sister, all came closer to her side. A playful
smile lit up her countenance. She laid her little
pulseless hand within her mother's palm, then
closed her eyelids to the light of earth, and sunk
away. The cold damp of death's shadowy valley
seemed circling over her. Slowly sinking down,
she glided towards that river's shore, which like a
narrow stream divides the spirit-land from ours.
But see the quivering lips essay to speak!
6' Mother !" How each heart throbbed now, and
then each pulse stood still. They listen. "Mother !"
the dying girl breathes forth--"I see-a light-I'm
almost home !"
Blessed thought Light is sown for man, ever
amid the gloom and darkness of the grave.
The apparent motion of the earth is from the
rising to the setting sun, when her real motion i
from the setting sun towards the rising. So is i
with man; he fancies himself journeying from life
to death, while in fact he is traveling from death to
THE TWILIGHT HOUR.
I love at the dim twilight hour,
When the blazing sun has gone,
To sit me down in a leafy bower,
And meditate alone.
To watch the approach of dusky night,
Arrayed in her sombre hue,
As she draws her misty veil around,
And scatters the crystal dew;
And list to the notes of the night bird's song,
As they float on the darksome air,
And forget in the bliss of the tranquil hour
This world of strife and care.
Though joyous, grave, or sad my mood,
I love alike this hour ;
A potent spell seems o'er me cast
With an enchanting power.
And oh, 'tis then fond memories
Will gently o'er me steal,
Of home, and friends-and by-gone days,
Loved scenes again reveal.
I love the morn's deep purple hues,
And softly falling shower ;
The sunny sky's o'er arching blue-
But more the twilight hour.
BEAU TIFTUL THOUGHT.
There is but a breath of air and a beat of the
heart, betwixt this world and the next. And in the
brief interval of painful and awful suspense, while
we feel that death is present with us, that we are
powerless and he all powerful, and the last faint pul-
sation here is but the prelude of endless life here-
after; we feel, in the midst of the stunning calamity
about to befal us, that earth has no compensating
good to mitigate the severity of our loss. But there
is no grief without some beneficent provision to
soften its intenseness. When the good and the
lovely die, the memory of their good deeds, like the
moonbeams on the stormy sea, lights up on dark-
ened hearts, and lends to the surrounding gloom, a
beauty so sad, so sweet, that we would not, if we
mauld, dispel the darkness that environs, it."
Say, wouldst thou be the leaflet
That blooms on yonder tree,
Nodding so gay to passers by,
And dancing merrily ?
A leaflet no, I would not be--
Though it is best to-day,
When autumn winds shall coldly blow,
That leaf will pass away.
Wouldst thou not be a cloudlet,
To float upon the breeze,
Thy mantle soft around thee wrap,
And gently take thine ease ?
A cloudlet no, I would not be-
Lest some fierce wind arise,
To rend my mantle from my form,
And bear me off a prize.
Wouldst thou not be a lovely flower,
The fairest in the land,
Watched every day by beauty's eye,
And. tended by her hands i
A floweret! no, I would not be-
Lest ruthless hands should tear
My fragile form from off its stem,
Aind blight my beauty fair.
But I would be like yonder babe,
As free as it from sin;
Thus with my bright and gladsome ways,
The love of all to win.
I would that then some angel bright
Would take me by the hand,
And bear me swiftly through the air,
To the bright Spirit Land.
How bright and beautiful is love in its hour of
purity and innocence-how mysteriously does it
etherealize every feeling, and concentrate every
wild and bewildering impulse of the heart. Love-
holy and mysterious love-it is the garland spring
of life, the dream of the heart, the impassioned
poetry of nature-its song is heard in the rude and
unvisited solitude of the far forest, and the thronged
haunts of busy life-it embellishes with its flames
the unpretending cot of the peasant and the gor-
geous palace of the monarch-flashes its holy gleam
of light upon the measured track of the lonely wan-
derer-hovers about the imperilled bark of the storm-
beaten mariner-enfeebles the darkly bending wing
of the muttering tempest, and imparts additional
splendor to the beacon that burns "on the far distant
Love is the mystic and unseen spell that harmo-
nizes and soothes, unbidden," the wild and rugged
tendencies of human nature-that lingers about the
sanctity qf the domestic hearth-the worshipped
deity of the penetralia, and unites in firmer union
the affections of social and religious society, gathers
verdant freshness around the guarded cradle of
helpless infancy, and steals its moonlight darkness
upon the yielding heart of despairing age-it hush-
es into reposing calmness the chaffed and bruised
and unresisting spirit of sorrow, and bears it from
the resisting and anticipated evils of life, to its own
bright and sheltering power of repose-transforms
into a generous devotion the exacting desires of vul-
gar interest and sordid avarice, and melts into a
tearful compassion the ice of insensibility.--Starr.
FROM EVERY THING AROUND US.
From everything around us,
The quick, observing mind,
Will gain some instruction,
Or moral good will find.
In each social relation,
What different minds we see,
What different dispositions,
What strange variety.
The mind should be directed
To discern good from ill;
The ill should be rejected,
Lest dross the mind should fill.
The good with care be cherished,
Like treasures stored away;
For goodness, worth, and wisdom,
Will brighter grow each day.
Then cull, oh cull, wherever
That thou shall chance to meet
A flowering shrub of wisdom,
Or buds of goodness sweet.
INTELLECTUAL AND MORAL POWER.
What avails intellectual without moral power ?
How little does it avail us to study the outward
world, if its greatness inspire no reverence to its
author, if its beneficence awaken no kindred love
towards our fellow creatures? How little does it
avail us to study history, if the past do not help us
to comprehend the dangers and the duties of the
present; if-from the sufferings of those who have
gone before us, we do not learn to suffer, and. from
their great and good deeds, how to act nobly; if the
developments of the human heart, in different ages
and countries, do not give us a better knowledge of
ourselves ? How little does literature benefit us, if
the sketches of life and character, the generous sen-
timents, the testimony to disinterestedness and rec-
titude, with which it abounds, do not incite and
guide us to wiser, purer, and more grateful action ?
How little substantial good do we derive from poetry
and the fine arts, if the beauty, which delights the
imagination, does not warm and refine the heart, and
raise us to the love and admiration of what is fair,
and perfect and lofty, in character and life ? Let
our studies be as wide as our condition will allow ;
but let this be their highest aim, to instruct us in
our duty and happiness, in the perfection of our na-
ture, in the true use of life, in the best direction of
our powers. Then is the culture of intellect an un-
mixed good, when it is sacredly used to enlighten
the conscience, to feed the flame of generous senti-
ment, to direct us in our common employment, to
throw a grace over our common actions, to make us
sources of innocent cheerfulness and centres of holy
influence, and to give us courage, strength, stability,
amidst the sudden changes and sore temptations and
trials of life.-Rev. Dr. Channing.
I SAW A BEAUTEOUS MAIDEN.
I saw a beauteous maiden,
Her form was faultless fair,
Her eye as blue as heaven,
In ringlets wav'd her hair.
A robe of spotless whiteness
Begirt her form around;
Her feet were lightly moving
To music's lively sound.
Companions were around her,
The charming, fair and gay ;
Rare luxuries surround them,
A happy band were they.
Then one among the number
Spake to that maiden fair,
And praised the silvery moonlight,
And the sweet evening air.
In softest, sweetest accents
She spake to him most dear;
Indeed, she spake so gently,
That none but he could hear.
Again I saw that maiden,
A matron now become,
Presiding in a mansion,
Her dear and happy home.
Companions were around her,
Lovely, fair and gay.
She sweetly smiled upon them,
Her children dear were they.
I took a walk one evening,
withinn the churchyard lone;
And saw by the pale moonlight,
Her name upon a stone.
There is no condition so low but may have
hopes; nor any so high that it is out of the reach of
A NEW YEAR'S HYMN.
Happy new year Happy new year !
This welcome sound breaks on the ear;
Blest day we hail once more thy dawn,
We hail with joy the new year's morn.
Twelve fleeting months have fled away;
Again appears the new year's day;
Old Time those hours can ne'er restore,
They've gone we ne'er shall see them more.
With earnest zeal, let us begin
This glad new year, and seek to win
The approbation of the wise;
Arouse each power that dormant lies.
Which ever way we chance to turn,
Something useful we may learn,
Some science, art, or truth displayed,
Or some new discovery made.
The active and inquiring mind
Can scarcely fail some sphere to find,
Wherein it may most happy move,
Most useful too, may often prove.
0, when the present year has gone,
May we look back with joy upon
The various parts we have sustained;
By no remorse may we be pained.
And may we strive day after day,
Treasures rich to store away,
Treasures of goodness, knowledge, truth,
Meet ornaments for age or youth.
HUSBANDS AND WIVES.
Are you a husband ? Do not suppose, when weari:
ed with business, that you have all the trouble and
your wife none. Do not go home and there vent
your ill-humor upon your unoffending spouse. Re-
collect that she has cares as well as you. If you are
annoyed by customers, worried for money, alarmed
at the failures of debtors, do not take vengeance for
your troubles on your wife, by rendering the house-
hold miserable with your sour looks and ill-temper.
A husband should throw off his cares the instant he
crosses the threshold of his door. Home is too holy
a sanctuary to be profaned by frowns. The hours
devoted to business are all sufficient for its purposes,
and when those hours are passed, your time should
be surrendered to enjoyment. It is not so difficult an
affair as you suppose. Habit is everything. With
a firm will, you will soon learn, on entering your
door, to throw of the annoyances of the office, as you
cast aside your overcoat. The practice resolutely
persisted in will eventually become a habit, and you
will reap your reward in a more cheerful home, and
pleasanter evenings. Recollect, all your torment-
ing about business, will not -render you one cent
Is it a wife that reads this ? Do not suffer your
husband's peevishness, if he comes home out of hu-
mor, to ruffle your temper, or awake a single hard
thought. Perhaps you have been worried all day
with your servants, or alarmed for a sick child-
and you are now completely fagged out and longing
for your husband to say a cheerful -word to you-
but do not allow your disappointment to influence
your feelings; for it will only make matters worse.
Your husband will soon see how much he is in the
BIRTHDAY GIFT. 63
wrong, and make you amends by his altered de-
meanor. He has been annoyed and came home, to
seek quiet and comfort-do not be angry that cir-
cumstances, not you, have prevented his receiving
it. Take a word of homely advice. Have every-
thing, at all times, neat and tidy for him; and
when you see him jaded, or out of humor, quietly
have something nicer than usual for his repast. It
is wonderful what a gdod dinner, or an unexpected-
ly nice supper will do towards changing a man's
peevishness into good humor. Remember men are
not angels, and must be managed as well as loved.
This is almost like a sermon, and what Aunt
Martha calls "a plain talk." But it will do you
good, if you only follow its precepts. Try !--Neal's
The various tints of autumn,
The trees around display;
The flowers so lately blooming,
Have withered quite away.
The grass, bright, green and vernal,
With dewdrops spangled o'er,
Has donned a sombre vesture,
Its beauty charms no more.
The autumn is a season
For sober, pensive thought;
The season for reflections,
That come e'en though unsought.
All, all around decaying,
Late lovely to the eye,
Plainly this lesson teaching,
That we like them must die.
Trees will resume their beauty,
Though faded now and sere,
The birds again sing sweetly,
But we may not be here.
Ere spring again shall open,
Or flowerets bloom around,
We may be lowly sleeping,
Beneath the cold, cold ground.
Then let us now consider,
If we are free from sin;
If talents God hath lent us,
Employed for good have been
THE MOTHER'S APPEAL.
Stay, wanderer, stay, why would'st thou roam
From thy kindred and thy home,
NVhy risk thy life upon the deep,
Beneath its waves thy brothers sleep;
If thou should leave thy native shore,
I fear that thou'It return no more.
I am a widow poor and lone,
Since he was called, long years have flown;
Although of partner then bereft,
Three sprightly boys I still had left,
But two alas! have found a grave,
Beneath the broad Atlantic's wave.
In my old age, desert me not,
To lean upon thee still I thought;
If thou my son, from me should roam,
A dreary place would be my home;
Without thy smile to cheer my way,
My life would be a darksome day.
I know the world to thee seems bright,
Thy fancy paints a brilliant light;
A halo round each object glows,
A mantle o'er its darkness throws;
But more of shade than light thou'It find,
Deception dwells in all mankind.
I know that thou would'st win a name,
The path to honor, wealth and fame;
Thy hopes are high, they urge thee on,
And bid each fearful thought begone.
Ambition hath its thousands slain,
Thy efforts all may be in vain.
WVithin our little quiet cot
There dwelleth peace, thou'lt find it not
In the wide world; for nought but care,
Strife and perplexity are there.
Then stay with me beloved one,
All, all save thee from me are gone.
A WORD TO THE RICH AND POOR.
The cold north wind is blowing,
The snow is falling fast;
The brooks have ceased their flowing,
Cold Winter's come at last.
Ye rich, who live in plenty,
Think of the suffering poor,
That with hardships oft they strive,
Privations great endure.
And if you will assistance
To some poor creature send,
To eke out their subsistence,
Heaven will the act befriend.
Now ye poor, I beg you all
To do the best you can,
If in deep poverty you fall,
Wrong not your fellow-man.
For God will look upon your need,
If unto Him you call;
But strict will mark your every deed,
If into vice you fall.
The stars are beautiful and bright,
How glorious they shine
In the blue vault, night after night,
Upheld by hands Divine.
O who upon those gems can gaze
With cold, indifferent stare;
Not lose their thoughts within a maze
Of love and rapture there.
The stars are the flowers of Heaven,"
And brightly there they bloom,
And sparkling they appear at even,
To dissipate night's gloom;
To speak to us of His great love,
From whom we all proceed;
Of Him who descended from above,
For sinful men to bleed.
VULGARITY OF LIFE -Man is self-inclined to give'
himself up to the common pursuits. The mind be-
comes so dulled to impressions of the beautiful and
perfect, that one should take all possible means to
awaken one's perceptive faculty to such objects-for
no one can entirely dispense with these pleasures ;
and it is only not being accustomed to the enjoy-
ment of anything good, that causes men to find plea-
sures in tasteless and trivial objects, which have no
recommendation but that of novelty. One ought
every day to hear a little song, to read a little poe-
try, to see a good picture, and, if possible, to say a
few reasonable words.-Goethe.
It is a query with some, whether the human
heart is most inclined to acts of kindness or unkind-
ness. Without undertaking to settle this question
we think there cannot be a doubt with any one but
that the heart is much more inclined to unkindness
than it should be. How many unrighteous and
cruel acts are performed, and hard and bitter words
are uttered, calculated to injure the feelings and in-
terests of those to whom they apply, when acts of
kindness could quite as easily have been performed,
and would have conveyed happiness instead of mis-
ery; and when soft words, quite as easily uttered,
would have carried joy to the heart of the hearer.
The smallest act of kindness would be a cordial to
a wounded heart, and often make a friend of an
enemy, and would make him who bestows it even
happier than the receiver. 0, what joy may follow
a kind word, or even a smile, when the heart is sad.
It is,in the power of man to make his fellow happy
by very simple means, if he will only use it. Or it
is in his power to add new weight to the already crush-
ed spirit. Which of these is the proper work of man ?
The question answers itself; and yet how few there
are who study the simple art of conveying happi-
ness to all around. And how few even of those
who know the art, practice what they know. The
secret lies in being kind in little things. It is in
these, which are so much overlooked by most per-
sons, that one is enabled to make happy all who as-
sociate with him. It is useless to be careful of great
things, and unkind in small ones. It is in the latter
we can discern our friends from our foes, or our real
friends from our pretended ones. "Straws show
which way the wind blows," much better than rocks
or logs of wood.-Starr.
The sun has sank into the west,
The beasts and birds have gone to rest,
The stars are shining one by one,
Another day has past and gone.
Think now my soul what thou hast done,
Hast thou tried all thy faults to shun ?
And sought this day, with all thy might,
To practice, what thou knew'st was right?
Lent a kind and pitying ear,
The suppliant's grief did'st kindly hear;
Comfort and aid to him impart,
And seek to heal his breaking heart ?
Or did'st thou harshly bid him go,
And not tease thee with tales of wo ?
Hast decked thyself in rich array,
And of thy wealth hast made display ?
While thy poor neighbor suffers sore,
For cast-off garments from thy store ?
Hast thou thy board with dainties spread,
WVhile many near are lacking bread ?
The widow and the orphan child,
Have they beneath thy bounty smiled ?
Thine enemies dost thou forgive,
And strive in peace with men to live ?
Hast of any evil spoken ?
Hast thy pledge to any broken ?
Against thy brother cherished ire ?
Hast checked the rise of wrong desire ?
Hast thou this day for sake of gain,
Upon thy conscience left a stain ?
If so kneel to thy God and pray
That He will wash thy guilt away.
That He will every sin forgive,
And teach thee better how to live.
The good increase, the bad destroy,
And fill thy soul with peace and joy.
TO A DEPARTED FRIEND.
We've laid thee, loved one, neathh the sod
All free from care;
Thy spirit pure hath sought its God
In mansions fair.
Sadly we miss thee here below,
And grieve thy voice no more to know,
Kind words thou eVer did'st bestow,
Our griefs did share.
Alone I sit in deepest sadness,
Thinking of thee;
Of hours replete with gladness,
No more to be ;
My weary spirit longs to soar,
And join thee on that heavenly shore
Where sin and death are known no more,
Where bliss flows free.
The preservation of the memories of lost friends
is not only a good exercise for the affections, and the
source of a pleasing hope to all who are yet to die,
but it is calculated to have a soothing and refining
effect upon those who indulge it. Our departed
friends always appear to us in the light of beings re-
moved to a purer existence and a higher state of in-
telligence, so as to be enabled to see and judge cor-
rectly of all our thoughts and actions. If we bear
them any respect, we will hesitate, under this ideal
censorship, to do things which are unworthy of us,
and for which perhaps the present world has no
punishment. We will try, on the contrary, to be as
pure in thought and deed as possible, in order that
we may be more pleasing to those who, we con-
ceive, are altogether pure, and whose esteem we na-
turally desire to conciliate. In the midst, too, of the
bustle and shock of the present life, when little in-
terests and petty jealousies are rearing themselves
like serpents in our hearts, how salutary to reflect
that all advantages we can now seek either to gain
or defend, are but trash and dross in the estimation
of those from whom we lately parted, and in no long
time will be the same in our own. Are we provid-
ed with a large share of such goods as this world
has to give, then will we control our appreciation of
them, by reflecting of how little account they will
be when we rejoin those friends in the world above.
Are we poor, and injured, and friendless, then will
the recollections of our departed friends tend to
cheer us, by presenting the idea of their superiority
to all such evils-a superiority soon to be our own,
^^ *A '^c -*>^
When thou lay'st down thy weary head
Guardian angels near thy bed
Watch are keeping.
Doth pain forbid thine eyes to close,
They are near thee,
Doth guilt refuse thee thy repose,
They can hear thee.
If from thy heart is breathed a prayer
To be forgiv'n,
Swift thy petition they will bear
They will bring this blest assurance
Thou art pardoned,
Granted unto true repentence;
Be not hardened !
Cease now to sin, no more transgress,
If in Heaven
T hou would'st reign in righteousness
With the forgiv'n.
For angels too with sins will speed
Unto thy God,
If thou walk not the ways -with heed,
His Son once trod.
FLOW ON, THOU LITTLE BROOK, FLOW ON.
Flow on, thou little brook; flow on,
Meander through the dell;
Thy little wavelets come, are gone,
Other brooklets to swell.
The modest violet nods its head,
As thou floweth gently by;
A perfume sweet around doth shed,
As the winds o'er it sigh.
Thou passeth many a floweret gay,
Upon thy banks shrubs spring;
Thou singeth many a merry lay,
Sing on, thou happy thing.
Autumnal leaves upon thy waves
Glide on with mirth and song;
Thou'll find for them a watery grave,
Though now so blithe, ere long.
Flow on, thou little brook, flow on,
I love thy waters bright ;
I watch thee oft at early dawn,
And often at twilight.
Say, art thou never sad, sweet brook,
Doth sorrow never come ?
Dost always wear as kind a look
As now; art aye, blithsome ?
I have a foe, the brooklet said,
A cold, unfeeling foe;
He comes not till the flowers are dead,
He comes with frost and snow.
He breathes upon my active limbs,
Stiff they become, and cold;
He chanteth hoarse, discordant hymns,
Across the dreary world.
Yes, I am sad, in icy chains.
Thus yearly to be bound ;
My foe o'er me triumphant reigns,
And o'er the country 'round.
Though I am sad and hush my song,
I'm weary, maiden, neyer;
Patient wait and hope ere long
My icy bands to sever.
B mRTHAY. GIFT.
I look for a brighter, kindlier day,
When the genial Spring shall come;
And chase my wintry foe away,
Unto his northern home.
Flow on, sweet brook, I love thee now,
Better than e'er before;
Thou'st taught me murmurless to bow
Until life's storms are o'er.
P PRETTY TH OU G HT.
God speaks to man through the countless objects
of his creating. His law, and wisdom, and good-
ness are written on the arched canopy of heaven.-
His voice is among the hills and valleys of the earth;
where the shrubless mountain pierces the atmosphere
of eternal winter, and where the mighty forest fluc-
tuates before the strong winds with its bark waves
of green foliage. It is these revelations from God to
man, which break link after link of the chain which
binds us to materiality, and opens to our imagina-
tion a world of spiritual beauty.
The most precious things this side the grave are
reputation and life ? yet the most contemptible wea-
pon may deprive us of the one and the meanest
whisper of the other.-Farmer and Mechanic.
No TIME To READ.-How often do we hear men
excuse themselves from subscribing to a paper or
periodical, by saying they have no time to read.-
When we hear a man thus excuse himself, we con-
clude he has never found time to confer any sub-
stantial advantage either upon his family, his coun-
try, or himself; it is truly humiliating, and we can
form no other opinion than that such a man is of
little importance to society.-Ib.
THE MOTHE "' S FAREWELL.
Farewell! I bid thee, now, my child,
An earthly, last farewell !
For death hath sealed thine eye so mild,
And thou with him must dwell.
Vainly I strive my tears to check;
They fall upon thy brow ;
Why should I to His will object,
Or wish thee back below ?
He called thee hence while thou wert pure,
Polluted by no sin;
Death ne'er again wilt thou endure,
Nor anguish feel within,
But in a bright, eternal home,
Forever more wilt dwell,
With angel spirits thou wilt roam,
And joys we may not tell.
And spring-flowers bright, around thy tomb
I'll plant, my little one;
Perchance when they the brightest bloom,
Thy spirit may look down ;
And smile an angel's smile, my babe,
Upon a mother's love,
That would not have a shade of gloom,
To meet thy gaze above.
And now farewell, dear babe, once more,
And peaceful be thy rest;
Then when my days on earth are o'er,
I'll clasp thee to my breast.
THE EMPTY CRADLE.
The death of a little child is to the mother's heart
like dew on a plant from which a bud has perished.
The plant lifts up its head in freshened greenness to
the morning light; so the mother's soul gathers
from the dark sorrow through which she has passed,
a fresh brightening of her heavenly hopes.
As she bends over the empty cradle, and in fancy
brings her sweet infant before her, a ray of divine
light is on the cherub face. It is her son still, but
with the seal of immortality on his brow. She feels
that heaven was the only atmosphere where her pre-
cious flower could unfold without spot or blemish,
and she would not recall the lost. But the anniver-
sary of his departure seems to bring his spiritual
presence near her. She indulges in that tender
grief which soothes, like an opiate in pain, all her
passages and cares of life. The world to her is no
longer filled with a human love and hope-in the
future, so glorious with heavenly love and joy, she
has treasures of happiness which the worldly, un-
chastened heart never conceived.
The bright, fresh flowers with which she decorated
her room, the apartment where the infant died, are
emblems of the far brighter hopes now dawning on
her day dream. She thinks of the glory and beauty
of the New Jerusalem. And she knows her infant
is there, in that world of eternal bliss. She has
'marked one passage in that book-to her emphati-
cally the Word of Life-now lying closed on the
toilet table, which she daily reads--" Suffer little
children, and forbid them not, to come unto me; for of
sueh is the kingdom of heaven."-Far. and AMec.
FEMALE BEAUTY.-A cultivated mind and good
heart will give an intelligent and even beautiful ex-
pression to'the face. The features may be irregular,
and the complexion bad, but if the heart is gentle,
and the mind well stored, the woman will be hand-
some. We have known women, who, at first sight,
were positively homely, yet who became very hand-
some, even fascinating, upon further acquaintance.
There is this paradox in pride, it makes some men
ridiculous, but prevents others from becoming so
THE HUIa AN HEART.
The human heart a garden is.
And flowers there we raise,
The blossoms and the fruit they bear,
Our skill reprove or praise.
If we allow the noxious weeds
To rankly flourish there,
Spite all our efforts to conceal,
The truth will plain appear.
If bitter herbs the garden yield,
And are permitted there,
The other stunted fruit and flowers,
A wormwood taste will bear.
If we ingraft the lovely rose,
And lily buds so pure,
An odor sweet they will exhale
That ever will endure.
Our hearts may we now look within,
Examine well the fruit,
Uproot each poisonous weed and herb,
]Reserve each tender shoot
That promises to bear a rose,
Or violet so sweet,
And if we nurture them with care,
They will our wishes meet.
THE ART OF THINKING.
One of the best modes of improving in the art of
thinking, is to think over some subject before you
read upon it; and then to observe after what man-
ner it has occurred to the mind of some great mas-
ter; you will then observe whether you have been
too rash or too timid ; what you have omitted, and
in what you have exceeded; and by this process
you will insensibly catch a great manner of view-
ing a question. It is right in study, not only to think
whenever any extraordinary incident provokes you
to think, but from time to time review what has
passed; to dwell upon it,- and to see what trains of
thought voluntarily present themselves to the mind.
It is a most superior habit of some minds, to refer
all the particular truths which strike them, to other
truths more general; so that their knowledge is
beautifully methodised; and the general truth at any
time suggests all the particular exemplifications, or
any particular exemplification at once leads to the
general truth. This kind of understanding has an
immense and decided superiority over those confus-
ed heads in which one fact is piled upon another,
without the least attempt at classification and ar-
rangement. Some men always read with a pen in
their hand, and commit to paper any new thought
which strikes them; others trust to chance for its
reappearance. VWhich of these is the best method
in the conduct of the understanding, must, I sup-
pose, depend a great deal upon the particular un-
derstanding in question. Some men can do noth-
ing without preparation; others little, with it; some
are fountains, some reservoirs.-Rev. Sidney Smith.
How sweet, how soothing is the thought,
As through earth's scenes we roam,
And cares perplex and doubts distract,
That earth is not our home :-
That we can look beyond, and feel
How soon earth's ties will sever;
When we shall dwell where pain's unknown,
With nought but bliss-forever.
All mortals crave some friendly heart,
That from us will not stray,
If from the right we should depart,
But point a better way.
For one who will not proudly scorn,
If wealth should ever flee,
With haughty mein, on us look down,
If low our lot should be.
To weep with us, when e'er we weep,
When glad with us, rejoice,
To comfort us in sorrow-seek,-
With sympathizing voice.
And of our faults will sometimes speak,
In tender, friendly way,
And for their reformation seek;
The hypocrite ne'er play.
And when our path is clouded o'er
With earthly grief and care,
That we may above them soar,
Join us in earnest prayer.
Oh such a friend, be it thy lot
To meet, where e'er thou stray;
When e'er thy friendship shall be sought,
From such ne'er turn away.
How pleasant a thing it is to have one friend to
whom we can go and unbosom our feelings, when
the world is harsh with us, and darkness has settled
on the fair face of nature. At such a time, a friend-
ly heart to counsel and advise with us-that will
manifest feeling and sympathy-is above all price,
The outgushings of love and tenderness revive and
cheer us-drive away the sadness from the bosom,
and brighten the heavens again. He who has one
to whom he can go in the hour of adversity, can
never be wholly cast down, can never be driven to
despair. The world, dark as it may sometimes be,
will always contain one bright spot-beautiful spot
-it will grow brighter and brighter, till the stricken
heart partakes of the fullness of joy, and is cast
down no more for ever.-Far, and lMec.
A VAG AR Y.
I love to steal an hour away
To some secluded nook,
And watch the glimmering sunbeam's ray,
The flowing, bubbling brook.
And listen to the merry birds,
WVarbling each joyful lay;
I feel enraptured, faint are words
My feelings to portray.
I wish, I long, that I could be
I know not what or where,
I fancy spirits I can see
Around me in the air.
'Tis all a fancy, well I know
I see not spirits there,
It is not given us below,
To know the spirits' sphere.
Hence, I force not the vision bright,
That flits across my brain,
O no, to me 'tis great delight,
The image to retain.
To dream myself a favored child,
That spirits condescend,
As I rove through the woodland wild,
My footsteps to attend.
And when again I seek my home,
I feel a calm within;
Would every fancy o'er me come,
Were free as this from sin.
FRIENDSHIP.-" They who will abandon
for one error, know little of
human character, and
prove that their hearts
ments are weak."
are as cold
as their judge
I LOVE TilE SPRING.
I love the Spring, so bright and gay,
But best of all the month of May,
When flowerets bright bedeck the ground,
The woods with melody resound ;
The bright blue sky, and fragrant air,
And nature blooming everywhere.
O Spring fair Spring! why dost thou stay
Come hasten on without delay.
Upon each bare and leafless tree,
Foliage green I long to see,
Birds and flowers I miss them sore,
When will stern Winter's reign be o'er ?
And little brooks so blithe and free,
Rejoice once more in liberty.
0 Spring fair Spring why dost thou stay ?
We're mourning at thy long delay.
Impatiently I watch each day
To see the snow wreaths melt away,
To see the bright green grass appear,
And hear the warbler's notes of cheer,
To see thy face once more sweet spring,
And garlands green which thou wilt bring.
O Spring fair Spring no longer stay,
But hasten with thy daughter May.
BE AUTIFTUL PASSAGES.
"You cannot go into the meadow and pluck up a
single daisy by the roots, without breaking up a so-
ciety of nice relations, and detecting a principle
more extensive and refined than mere gravitation.
The handful of earth that follows the tiny roots of
the little flower is replete with social elements A
little social circle has been formed around the ger-
minating daisy. The sun-beam and the dew-drop
met there, and the soft summer breeze came whis-
pering through the tall grass to join the silent con-
cert; and the earth introduced them, and they all
went to work to show that flower to the sun. Each
mingled in the honey of its influence, and they nur-
sed 'the wee canny thing' with an aliment that
made it grow. And when it lifted its eyes towards
the sky, they wove a soft carpet of grass for its feet.
And the sun saw it through the green leaves, and
smiled as he passed on; and then by starlight and
moonlight they worked on. And the daisy lifted up
its head, and one morning, while the sun was look-
ing upon the dews, it put on its silver-rimmed dia-
dem, and showed its yellow petals to the stars. And
it nodded to the little birds that were swimming in
the sky. And all of them that had silver-hned
wings came; and birds in black and gray, and
quaker brown came; and the querulous blue bird,
and the courtsying yellow bird came, and each sung
a native air at the coronation of that daisy.
"'Every thing that sung or shone upon that wee,
modest flower, was a member of that social circle,
and conspired to its harmony and added to its music.
Heaven, earth, sky and sea, were its companions ;-
the sun and stars walked hand in hand with it, as
kindly as if they never saw another daisy, or had
another companion. The sober ocean, even the dis-
tant Pacific, laded the fleet-winged clouds with
sweet-savored dews, to brighten its countenance
when the sun appeared."
The method in which Laura Bridgeman was
taught to read is thus spoken of:
"A-nd they made a wooden alphabet, wooden mo-
dels of ideas, of things that had been, are, and shall
be in the world. And these she touched most
thoughtfully, as if listening for the music of a new
existence; and, wonderful her fingers' end became
endowed with faculties almost miraculous, and filled
her mind with astonishing revelations of things pre-
sent, past, and to come. Her little white, whisper-
ing, loving, listening fingers touched the record of
the olden years, before the Flood, till they felt the
branches of the forbidden tree, and the locks of mur-
dered Abel, and the surges that beat against Noah's
helmless ark, and the cradle of the Hebrew baby in
the bulrushes, and the tremulous base of Sinai, and
David's harp, and the face of the infant Emanuel in
the manger, and the nails that fastened him to the
cross, and their deep prints that unbelieving Thomas
felt after the resurrection; and with his faith, on
shorter evidences she too had cried in the voiceless
language of her heart, 'My Lord and my God I' "
A TWILIGHT THOUGHT.
Now gently sinks the setting sun ;
Tinged is each cloud with gold;
For day once more its course has run.-
Its deeds to heaven are told,
How pleasant now, if we can say,
As twilight hastens on,
That we have well improved the day
NVhose fleeting hours are gone.
If we have wiped away one tear,
Or soothed one single pain,
Or sought to cheer one drooping heart,
We have not lived in vain.
So swiftly flies the life of man,
So soon his days are o'er;
O, let us do what good we can
Ere time shall be no more.
THE STRANGER'S GRAVE.
In the land of strangers, far from his birth,
They have laid him down in tle cold, damp earth,
Where tall trees wave, and the wild flowers bloom,
In the forest lone they've made him a tomb,
WVhere the wild birds warble requiems o'er
His lonely grave on a far distant shore.
No fondly loved wife, no children were near
To sooth his last hours and make them less drear,
But, tended by strangers, he drew his last breath,
With none to lament him or weep at his death;
With scarcely a prayer they bore him away
To the cold embrace of our mother clay.
But calmly and sweetly his body will rest
In its lonely bed in the land of the West,"
For what recks the body when spirit has fled,
Of where it may find its last low bed,
'Neath sculptured urn in its owvn native land,
'Neath the ocean's waves, or the deserts sand.
The angel appointed to guard the dead,
Will watch o'er each lone sequestered bed,
Till the trumpet's sound at the last Great Day,
Shall arouse to life the slumbering clay;
Then oh, let him rest, no more grieve that he
Is slumbering afar from his own country.
THE MOURNING SISTER.
Thou art gone from among us,
And never more here,
Thou wilt meet again with us,
Though unto us dear.
And sadly we are mourning,
Dear sister, for thee,
And sit o'er thy grave weeping,
Beneath the yeqv tree.
Thy form so perfect in beauty,
With grace so replete,
Lies mouldering neathh the sod,
Where the vile worms creep.
0, why so soon didst thou leave
For the cold, dark grave,
We did much for thee, sister,
But we could not save.
List! what is that sweet cadence
That breaks on mine ear ?
'T is the voice of my sister,
'T is her that I hear.
For what's in the tomb ?
It is only the casket,
The gem still doth bloom.
"( In gardens of Eden, in
No mortsd can imagine
The bliss that is ours.
45 Mortal! cease now thy weeping,
And prepare to greet
The spirit of thy sister,
For soon we shall meet."
She has ceased-now she's gone---
That bright sister of mine;
I will follow thee ere long,
My spirit meet thine.
A SISTER'S LOVE.
Many, perhaps all of you, may have brothers.
Possibly there are cases where, now and then, they
may become the victims of intemperance, or licen-
tiousness, or gambling, or irreligion How much a
sister's love and assiduity may effect, if seasonably
exerted, in preventing such family calamities If
you discover in one of them the least appearance
of such an inclination, reproach him not; that may
do more injury than benefit. Do no such thing.
Such weapons may goad him on; may lead him to
desperation; may even seal his uini. I piay you,
my young friends, do no such thing. If you would
prevail, be -wise as serpents, and harmless as the
cooing doves. .If you succeed, great indeed will be
your victory! Honorable -will be your triumph !
The hope of a kind father and the first-born of an
agonized mother may peicliance be rescued from
destruction, -while a dear brothel may be preserved
to protect and to bless yourself to the clay of your
death. TVatch your opportunities. At some au-
spicious moment, hen t1 e softened shades of eve-
ning are gathering over you both with their pensive
influences, or the light of the silvery moon is play-
fully controlling the more unsubdued attributes of
youthful ardor and impetuosity, and are beguiling
him to the bewitching leveries of unchastened pas-
sion, take him gently by the hand; impress upon
his feverish lips the pious fervor of your own; with
your arms about his neck, piess him to your full
bosom; then overwhelm him with your kind en-
treaties; and letting these entreaties, each on your
bended knees, be sanctified by a sister's prayer: be-
lieve me, dear maiden, your work will then be ac-
complished For if the spirits of the other world
ever watch the events of this, they must now have
been present; thus, heaven ratifying and confirm-
ing the penitential vows of a returning prodigal.
Blake's Every Day Boo7c.
THE NAIAD OF THE LAKE.
The gentle moon is shining
From her pure throne of light;
And starry gems entwining
Surround the queen of night.
The western zephyrs blowing
Across the placid lake;
The waters, ceaseless flowing,
Alone the silence break.
Hark! sweetest sounds of melody
Across the waters stealing;
A little boat bounds light and free,
A slender form revealing.
Within the little skiff-alone-
A maiden is reclining,
She bears a lute of sweetest tone,
The wild and soft combining.
She floats awhile-then disappears
Beneath the water's breast ;
One mighty wave its head uprears,
Then, quiet, sinks to rest.
The skiff in which the maid reclines
Of sea shells rare is wrought;
And precious gems upon it shine,
More rich than man ere sought.
The Naiad of the Lake," they call
That beauteous maiden fair ;
'T is said ere autumn leaflets fall,
She always does appear.
Hark how her wild melodious notes
Steal o'er the evening air ;
And see the waves on which she floats
A golden radiance wear.