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Would but a root of anguish be
Justly then, my God, to thee,
MOTHER,-beneath fair Tarring's heavenward spire,
Where in old years thy youthful vows were paid, When God had granted thee thy heart's desire,
And she went forth a wife, who came a id, With mindful steps thus wisely have we stray'd,
Full of deep thoughts: for where that sacred fire
Of Love was kindled, in the self-same spot,
Thou, with the dear companion of thy lot, Thy helpmate all those years, mine honour'd sire,
To-day have found fulfilled before your eyes
Thy children's children ! lo, these babes arise,
SONNET, ON A BIRTH.
At length,--a dreary length of many years,
God's favour hath shone forth ! and blest thee well, O handmaid of the Lord, for all thy tears, For all thy prayers, and hope, and faith—and fears,
With that best treasure of consummate joy A childless wife alone can fully tell
How sorely long withheld—her first-born boy : This blessing is from heav'n; to heav'n once more,
Another Hannah with her Samuel,
A heart, to yearn upon its fellow-men,
Pearls before swine : this is an old complaint ;
In very humbleness and not in pride The spirit feels it true; yet makes a feint
To rest with man's neglect well satisfied, And have its wealth of words, its stores of thought
Despised or unregarded : woe betide The heart that lives on praise ! considering nought Of Duty's royal edicts, that command
Thy talents to be lent, thy lamp to shine : Soul, be not faint; nor, body, stay thy hand;
Heed only this,-not whether those be swine, But whether these be pearls, precious and pure ;
That so, whatever fate the world make thine, With God for Judge, thy guerdon be secure.
THERE is a time for praising,
And a better time for pray'r,The heart its anthem raising,
Or uttering its care : One minute is for smiling,
And another for the tear,Hope, by turns, beguiling,
Or her haggard brother, Fear.
But, if in joy thou praisest
Hand that gave, And if in woe thou raisest The prayer that He
may save ; Thy griefs shall seem all pleasure,
As the chidings of a Friend, And thy joy's ecstatic measure
A beginning without end !
I NEVER left the place that knew me,
And may never know me more, Where the cords of kindness drew me,
And have gladdend me of yore, But my secret soul has smarted
With a feeling full of gloom For the days that are departed
And the place I call'd my Home.
I am not of those who wander
Unaffectioned here and there, But my
heart must still be fonder Of my scites of joy or care ; And I point sad memory's finger
(Though my faithless foot may roam) Where I've most been made to linger
In the place I call’d my Home.