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The glow-worms, numerous and bright,
Illum'd the dewy dell last night.
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Hopping and crawling o'er the green;
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
The frog has chang’d his yellow vest,
And in a russet coat is drest.
Though June, the air is cold and still;
The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.
My dog, so alter'd in his taste,
Quits mutton-bones, on grass to feast;
And see yon rooks, how odd their flight,
They imitate the gliding kite,
And seem precipitate to fall-
As if they felt the piercing ball.
'Twill surely rain, I see, with sorrow;
Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

Dr. Jenner.

THE WANDERER TO HER CHILD.

The sun is sunk, and daylight gone,
As over the moor we journey on;
The snows are lying all deep and chill;
The clouds are gathering round the hill;
The winds they are moaning through the air,
And backwards tossing the branches bare;
Oh hush, oh hush, thy piteous cry,
And shut in repose thy little eye:

Be still, my babe, and sleep!
Though cold the snows, and though cold the air,
That sweeps o'er the frozen mountains bare,

More cold was that ungenerous mind,
Which holiest vows were vain to bind,
Which stole my peace, and, ruining me,
Left me to roam the world with thee:
Oh hush, and oh hush thy piercing cry,
And I will sing your lullaby:

Be still, my babe, and sleep!

Thy father he cares not for his child;
Thou art forsaken, and I revil'd;
From town to town, a dreary way,
We wander along from day to day,
Begging a crust of the poor man's bread,
And laying us down in some humble shed;
All but thyself look in scorn on me,
And, oh! I shall ever be kind to thee:

Be hush’d, my babe, and sleep!
Ah once, sweet baby, I had a home,
Nor dreamt I then that I thus should roam;
By a pleasant village our cottage stood,
And my parents were pious, and kind, and good :
They had no comfort but me on earth,
For I was the light of their lonely hearth;
Till there came to our door, in cruelty gay,
Thy father, who stole their treasure away:

Be hush’d, my babe, and sleep! The old man broke his heart, and died, And soon

my mother was laid by his side; I was lying in weakness when these they told, And thou wert an infant three days old; I pray'd for death, and I wish'd to die, Till I heard thy pitiful, tender cry,

,

And then I petition'd for life to be
In thy helpless years a mother to thee:

Be hush’d, my babe, and sleep!
A haven yet may smile for us,
And the heart that could neglect us thus,
May feel the misery we have felt,
And share the sorrow itself hath dealt;
We soon shall be over these barren ways,
And I will warm thee, love, at the blaze,
Where, 'mid yon trees, on the upland moor,
Stands kindly open the peasant's door:

Then hush, my babe, and sleep!

Delta.

THE INFANT'S DEATH-BED.
“Lift the veil that shades his cradle,
Balmy sleep has seal'd his eyes."
-No, upon those darken'd eye-lids
Death's eternal slumber lies.
Lo! the couch of restless anguish,
Where he pin’d and moan'd erewhile;
Now upon those pain-worn features
Rests a faint and placid smile.
Lovely e'en in death, my baby!
That soft smile, that aspect meek;
Beauteous still the pallid roses
That bestrew thy faded cheek.
Stillid the pulse's feverish flutter,
Fled the fush'd cheek's hectic bloom;
Thine the ease no pang

shall trouble, Thine the slumber of the tomb.

Never more shall day's warm radiance
Cheer thee with its genial beam;
Never more yon moon's cold lustre
On those pallid features gleam.
All unheeded and unheeding,
Cold this cherish'd form shall rest;
And the crumbling grass-cloth'd hillock
Rise above that tender breast.
Harmless round thy lowly dwelling
Rain shall beat or tempest rave;
Vainly summer's fragrant zephyrs
Waft their perfumes o'er thy grave.
For thy play-mates' busy murmur,
Active sports and noisy glee,
Peace and rest shall be thy portion,
Night and silence dwell with thee.
Soon, full soon, thy lisping sister
Shall thy absence cease to mourn;
E'en a mother's heart, forgetful,
Cease to weep her eldest-born.
But not thus within

my

bosom
Shall thy cherish'd image fade;
Or my heart, its grief resigning,
Cease to mourn thee, lowly laid.
For 'twas mine to watch thy pillow,
Each fond care in vain to try,
To behold thy parting anguish,
To receive thy latest sigh.
Cherub! rest—thy trial's over;
Early set life's feeble ray;
Cherub! past thy night of sorrow,
Waken to eternal day!

CHRISTIAN MISSIONARIES.

Let worldly men The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn, And call fanatics them who hazard health And life, in testifying of the truth ; Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ. What were the Galilean fishermen But messengers commission'd to announce The resurrection and a life to come ? They, too, tho'cloth’d with power of mighty works Miraculous, were oft receiv'd with scorn: Oft did their words fall powerless, tho' enforc'd By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend. But when their efforts fail’d, unweariedly They onward went, rejoicing in their course.

Grahame.

MORNING THOUGHTS.

What secret hand, at morning-light,

By stealth unseals mine eye,
Draws back the curtain of the night,

And opens earth and sky?
'Tis thine, my God—the same that kept

My resting hours from harm;
No ill came nigh me, for I slept

Beneath the Almighty's arm.
'Tis thine—my daily bread that brings,

Like manna scatter'd round,
And clothes me, as the lily springs

In beauty from the ground.

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