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The night wind it is blowing cold, 'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold.
He's crossing o'er the wold apace,
He's stronger than the storm;
His heart it is so warm;
He makes all toil, all hardship light
Would all men were the same!
So very slow to blame !
And we'll do all that father likes,
His wishes are so few; Would they were more ! that every hour
Some wish of his I knew ; I'm sure it makes a happy day, When I can please him any way.
I know he's coming by this sign,
That baby's almost wild; See
how he laughs, and crows, and staresHeaven bless the
child ! His father's self in face and limb; And father's heart is strong in him.
Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps now
He's through the garden gate ;
And do not let him wait !
THE GREEK BOY.
W. C. BRYANT.
Glorious in mien and mind;
Their dust is on the wind;
Gush brightly as of yore;
As many an age before.
Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hella's skies;
Her sunshine lit thine eyes ;
Thy elder brethren broke-
The intolerable yoke.
E. T. FRIER.
Repining on the shore ;
freedom ne'er was won
When dangers rise around;
To gain the vantage ground.
Like stars they shine on high ;
But never, never die !
Of low obscurity,
And joyless poverty.
A wilderness of care ;
And flow'rets blooming fair.
The guardian of your aim !
pure, unclouded love illume
THE GLADNESS OF NATURE.
W. CULLEN BRYANT. Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground ? There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play in the bright green vale, And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves in that
aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray; On the leaping waters and gay young isles,
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.
THE POOR MAN'S CHILD.
Wordless, yet on his pale brow stamp'd;
With every noble impulse cramp'd.
In woes, the martyr; years, the child !
Or train each impulse, fond or wild.
And not by virtue's stamp of soul :
And cast sweet drops in sorrow's bowl.
Oh! then, my boy, in whose bright eye
Language and love portray'd I see, Wake to a sense of right !--the sky
Of knowledge hath its stars for thee. Wake, and look up! the grey dawn's light;
Want hath not blighted that which smiled Thy nobler portion. Mind is might!
And oft great-soul'd, the poor man's child! And struggle still, ye sacred fires !
Immortal soul, look upward-on!
Oppress the fall’n, or leave the lone ?
Its form, its nature; yet shall dwell In every sphere, the soul's wide range,
Crown’d with a light ineffable.
THE GRAVES OF THE HOUSEHOLD.
THEY grew in beauty side by side,
They fillid one home with glee;Their graves are sever'd, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
O’er each fair sleeping brow;
Where are those dreamers now ?
One 'midst the forest of the west,
By a dark stream is laid-
Far in the cedar shade.