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النشر الإلكتروني

TO THE SAME,

ON RECOVERING FROM ILLNESS.

WHAT message did the Angel bring?
For sure from Heaven he came.

Sickness and Health obey their King,
The God who knows thy frame.

Comes there an hour with blessings fraught, But brings some duty too?

Is there a sorrow, or a thought,

But has some end in view?

Oh, let the sun not shine in vain,
While his bright smile is lent;

Nor murmur at the blasts and rain,—

They too in love are sent.

What message did the Angel bring,

My sister, when he came,

Shook sickness from his viewless wing,

And weaken'd all thy frame?

Whate'er the friendly warning said,—

It is to Conscience known,

Oh, let it in thy life be read,

And by thy temper shewn.

Welcome again to health and joy,

My sister! let thy tongue

Its new-strung powers in praise employ,

And we will join the song.

Praise Him, while youth and health are thine,

Who youth and health bestows:

To Him thy heart, thy life resign,

In Him thy trust repose.

Then, when the mission'd Angel's breath

Again shall lay thee low,

Thou wilt not fear the message-death,

If thus prepared to go.

1810.

TO A SISTER-WITH A BIBLE.

DEAR HARRIET, could a wish bestow,

'To bless thy natal day,

That ease and joy the wealthy know,
And all that charms the gay,

A Mother's love, & Father's prayer,

With trembling doubt would falter there.

The world! though nature's shuddering eye Turns from its frown the while,

Oh, thank it for its enmity,

Nor dare to trust its smile.

Thy Parents long the fight have borne,

And thou must combat, thou must mourn.

They dare not wish thy youthful feet

Should find a flowery way:

They tremble lest an earthly sweet
Should lead thy heart astray.

It is a desert they have trod;

But 'tis the only path to God.

But more than riches or than mirth,

My sister, here is given.

This Book shall be thy friend on earth,
Shall be thy guide to Heaven.

This hallow'd gift, this treasure take:
Oh, prize it for thy Parents' sake.

'Tis this their pilgrim feet has led On through this vale of tears;

And on this manna they have fed,

For all these wearying years.

When famine in the world prevails,

This cruse of comfort never fails.

Oh, let this blessed gift engage
Thine ever-dwelling eye;

The rent-roll of thy heritage,

And Hope's bright treasury.
A Mother's love, a Father's prayer,
Rest on the gift, and centre there.

Dec. 22, 1810.

TO LOUISA.

LOUISE! you wept, that morn of gladness
Which made your Brother blest;

And tears of half-reproachful sadness

Fell on the Bridegroom's vest:

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