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My chaise the village inn did gain,
Of the old church across the way.
Across the way I silent sped,
The time till supper to beguile, In moralizing o'er the dead,
That mouldered round that ancient pile.
There many an humble green grave show'd
O'er those who once had wealth possess'd.
A faded beech its shadow brown
Threw o'er a grave where sorrow slept,
A piece of bread between them lay,
Which neither seemed inclined to take;
"My little children, let me know,
The little boy, in accents sweet,
Replied, while tears each other chased,― "Lady, we 've not enough to eat,
And if we had, we would not waste.
"But sister Mary's naughty grown,
And will not eat, whate'er I say, Though sure I am the bread 's her own, For she has tasted none to-day."
"Indeed," the wan, starved Mary said, "Till Henry eats, I'll eat no more, For yesterday I got some bread
He's had none since the day before."
My heart did swell, my bosom heave,
I silent sat upon the grave,
And press'd the clay-cold hand of each.
With looks that told a tale of woe,
And thus their tale of grief impart.
"Before my father went away,
"But then poor mother did so cry,
And looked so changed, I cannot tell ; She told us that she soon should die,
And bade us love each other well.
"She said that when the war was o'er, Perhaps we might our father see, But if we never saw him more,
That GoD our father still would be!
She kissed us both, and then she died,
"But when my father came not here,
I thought, if we could find the sea, We should be sure to meet him there, And once again might happy be.
“We hand in hand went many a mile,
"But when we reached the sea, and found 'T was a great water round us spread, We thought that father must be drowned, And cried, and wished we both were dead.
"So we returned to mother's grave,
"Then since no parent here we have,
We'll go and search for GoD around; Lady! pray can you tell us where
That GOD, our Father, may be found.
"He lives in heaven, mother said,
And Goody says that mother's there, So, if she knows we want His aid,
I think perhaps she 'll send Him here."
I clasped the prattlers to my breast,
And cried," Come both and live with me, I'll clothe you, feed you, give you rest, And will a second mother be.
"And God will be your Father still; 'Twas He in mercy sent me here,
To teach you to obey His will,
Your steps to guide, your hearts to cheer."
WE ARE SEVEN.
WE ARE SEVEN.
A SIMPLE child,
That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, What should it know of death?
I met a little cottage girl :
She was eight years old, she said; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head.
She had a rustic, woodland air,
"Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
“And where are they? I pray you tell;
"Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother;