And tell our gentle Mother,
That on her grave I pour
The sorrows of my spirit forth,
As on her breast of yore;
Happy thou art that soon, how soon
Our good and bright will see!
Oh brother! brother! may I dwell,
Ere long, with them and thee !
WE mourn for those who toil,
The slave who ploughs the main,
Or him who hopeless tills the soil
Beneath the stripe and chain;
For those who in the world's hard race,
O'erwearied and unblest,
A host of restless phantoms chase ;—
Why mourn for those who rest ?
We mourn for those who sin,
Bound in the tempter's snare,
Whom syren pleasure beckons in
To prisons of despair;
Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn,
Are wrecked on folly's shore ;
But why in sorrow should we mourn
For those who sin no more?
We mourn for those who weep;
Whom stern afflictions bend
With anguish o'er the lowly sleep
Of lover or of friend:
But they to whom the sway
Of pain and grief is o'er,
Whose tears our God hath wiped awayO mourn for them no more.
WHEN on SINAI's top I see
God descend in majesty,
To proclaim his holy law,
All my spirit sinks with awe.
When in ecstasy sublime
TABOR'S glorious steep I climb,
At the too-transporting light,
Darkness rushes o'er my sight.
When on CALVARY I rest,
God, in flesh made manifest,
Shines in my Redeemer's face,
Full of beauty, truth, and grace.
Here I would for ever stay,
Weep and gaze my soul away;
Thou art heaven on earth to me,
Lovely, mournful, CALVARY.
SPEAK not harshly-much of care
Every human heart must bear ;
Enough of shadows sadly play
Around the very sunniest way;
Enough of sorrows darkly lie,
Veiled within the merriest eye.
By thy childhood's gushing tears—
By thy griefs of after years—
By the anguish thou dost know-
Add not to another's woe.
Speak not harshly—much of sin
Dwelleth every heart within;
In its closely covered cells
Many a wayward passion dwells.
By the many hours misspent—
By the thoughts to folly lent-
By the wrong thou didst not shun-
By the good thou hast not done-
With a lenient spirit scan
The weakness of thy brother man.
THE DEATH OF THE FIRST BORN.
THE Angel came down, while of safety they dream'd,
And with terrible glory his countenance gleam'd,
As he turned to obey the Almighty command,
And the sword of Destruction was grasped in his hand.
Resistless as lightning his pathway he sped,
And fatal as lightning-'twas marked with the dead;
Not the palace upreared on its towering height,
Nor the cot unobtrusive, evaded his might.
And oh ! in that gloomy and desolate hour
Were faded and fled Egypt's glory and flower,
For the life blood arrested, congealed as a rill,
And the pulse but once throbb'd, and for ever was still.
And there lay the youth who, in that awful night,
Sought repose amid visions of future delight;
And he woke from his sleep but to draw in one breath—
One gasp-'twas his last, and he slumbered in death.
Then the heart of the haughty was bowed down at length,
As speechless he wept o'er the pride of his strength, And recoiling in fear at the stroke of His rod, Submits to the prowess of Israel's God,
THE TREASURES OF THE SEA.
WHAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main!
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea!
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more, the Depths have more! What wealth untold
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand argosies.
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main! Earth claims not these again!
Yet more, the Depths have more!-Thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry!
Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay!
Yet more, the Billows and the Depths have more! High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar—
The battle-thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!
Give back the lost and lovely!-Those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long;
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless
gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown:
But all is not thine own!
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