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They part—hark! from the trembling lip
the half-suppress’d farewell, To fond endearment like the sound of slow
ly passing bell; They part--what fervency of prayer is in
that bursting sigh! Father of mercies ! hear, and send rich
blessings from on high. Ye guardian spirits of the good, o fly with
readiest wing, Obedient to the sovereign will of your
Eternal King ; And watch around them tenderly, lest sub
tle powers of ill, With doubts and dark forboding fears in
crease the woes they feel.
() deeply rooted is the love that Jane for
Allan bears ! Or why, throughout the live-long day, that
frequent gush of tears ?
And why that pallid cheek, where late the
roses sweetly bloom'd ? That languid eye, wherein the fire of
beauty lies entomb’d? Ah! seems it not as if her soul could brook
no more delay, But, in its haste to meet its love, would send
itself away? Cease, gentle spirit! cease thy strife, and
soften down thy pain, O hear the voice of heavenly hope, “You'll
surely meet again!”
Years have rolled by—the hour is come
the long expected hour, That Allan should return to prove affec
tion's changeless power; But, O! what horrors brood around! What
wildness fills the air! And see the breast of Ocean-sure, the
fiends of wrath are there!
Are these propitious signs of joys, in ante
past so long ? Or, speak they not of grief and woe, for
mortal frames too strong ? Too true-see! on the wave-lashed shore,
amid the tempest's wrath, In firm embrace they're met again-but,
ah! it is in denth!
Forboding ill, with breaking heart, the
maiden left her bed, And came to seek him whom she lov'd
she found him cold and dead ! Exhausted nature could no more-in wild
affright she cast Herself upon the lifeless form, and there
she breath'd her last ! Fond, but ill-fated pair !—But are they met
in death alone ? Hark! Piety replies, “They're met before
Jehovah's throne :
“ They're met—in a far happier world, and
on a brighter shore; “ They're met—where all who love their
God shall meet-to part NO MORE.”
THE CUP OF SORROW.
BY G. R. CARTER.
How many of that fatal cup
In loneliness have quaff’d,
And flow'd from every draught !-
The love which hallows years, Were broken by its baneful power
The cup of blood and tears !
Oh! could it from the heart efface
The moral taint of sin,
From weeping angels win !-
Since Adam's race began ; Its chastening sway has long controllid
The guilty soul of man.
Oh! now it overflows its brim,
And scatters woe around ; Despair awakes in every breeze,
And death in every sound ! But Thou who still'st the rolling floods,
And turn'st the night to day, Shalt raise the sinner from the dust,
And take that cup away.