128

THE DYING MOTHER.

Unconsciously my comforter,
Before thy tongue could speak,
Thy baby-fingers used to wipe
The tear-drop off my cheek;
And many an hour of lonely grief
Thy playfulness beguiled,
With bursts of merry laughter,-
For thou wast a happy child.

I heard thy little footsteps come
Each morning to my door,
And then I felt as if my heart
Was lighter than before.
I used to teach thy cherub lips.
To lisp a simple prayer;
I spake to thee of holy things,
And surely God was there.

Thy childhood passed, and then I saw
My bud of promise burst;
Expanded to a full-blown flower,
Fresh as it was at first;

But the broad leaf that sheathed it once

Has all too narrow grown,

And it must face the storm and wind
Unsheltered and alone.

Listen, my child, thou knowest well
The path thy father trod;

PASSING AWAY.

Oh, follow in thy father's steps,
And trust thy father's God:
He will support thee, He will guide
Thine ignorance and youth,—
To thee, as now to me, He will
Be faithfulness and truth.

I hear my Saviour calling me,
I know it is in love;
His angels wait to bear me

To his blessed home above;
I go with joy at His command,
For death is gain to me;
And now, in faithfulness, O Lord,
I cast my child on Thee.

66

129

FROM THE DOVE ON THE CROSS."

PASSING AWAY.

"Passing away is written on the world, and all the world contains."

Ir is written on the rose,

In its glory's full array;
Read what those buds disclose-

"Passing away."

It is written on the skies

Of the soft blue summer day;

It is traced on sunset's dyes-
"Passing away."

130

PASSING AWAY.

It is written on the trees,

As their young leaves glistening play,
And on brighter things than these-
"Passing away."

It is written on the brow,
Where the spirit's ardent ray
Lives, burns, and triumphs now-
"Passing away."

It is written on the heart,

Alas! that there decay

Should claim from love a part―
"Passing away."

Friends, friends! Oh! shall we meet
In a land of purer day,

Where lovely things and sweet
"Pass not away"?

Shall we know each other's eyes,
And the thoughts that in them lay
When we mingled sympathies.

Oh! if this

"Passing away"?

may be So,

Speed, speed, thou closing day,
How blest from earth's vain show

To pass away!

HEMANS.

COME, list to me, and you shall hear
A tale of what befel

A famous man of Switzerland,-
His name was WILLIAM TELL.

Near Reuss's bank, from day to day,
His little flock he led,

By prudent thrift and hardy toil
Content to earn his bread.

132

WILLIAM TELL.

Nor was the hunter's craft unknown;
In Uri none was seen

To track the rock-frequenting herd
With eye so true and keen.

A little son was in his home,
A laughing, fair-haired boy;
So strong of limb, so blithe of heart,
He made it ring with joy.

His father's sheep were all his friends;
The lambs he called by name;
And when they frolicked in the fields,
The child would share the game.

So peacefully their hours were spent
That life had scarce a sorrow;
They took the good of every day,
And hoped for more to-morrow.

But oft some shining April morn
Is darkened in an hour;

And blackest griefs o'er joyous homes
Alas! unseen may lower.

Not yet on Switzerland had dawned

Her day of liberty;

The stranger's yoke was on her sons,
And pressed right heavily.