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The more we know of earthly grief,
From something cherish'd still.
Who can have pass'd thro' life, nor known
Here, then, we make our stand-on this
As on a spell-in bale or bliss,
If there be one it cannot move,
Finding not One whom it could love,
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
THE Bird that soars on highest wing
When Mary chose the better part,
And Lydia's gently-open'd heart
Was made for God's own temple meet:
-Fairest and most adorn'd is She,
Whose clothing is Humility.
The Saint, that wears heaven's brightest
In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most when most his soul ascends : -Nearest the Throne itself must be The footstool of Humility.
DR. ANDERSON'S DEATH-BED,
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY HIS DAUGHTER.
BY JAMES WHYTT, ESQ.
THE scene is deep imprest upon me now; My father's death-bed I shall ne'er forget;
As tho' the radiance of his sainted brow
Ling❜red behind him when his sun was set.
E'en those who count their every feeling
If called to see a funeral pass by, Without emotion might have almost ask'd, Is he departed?" Is it this to die?"
More peacefully he thought upon the grave, And met with calm delight his latest hour, Than summer-breezes kiss the glassy wave,
Or waft the fragrance of a scented flower.
Whatever anguish fill'd my throbbing heart,
I joy'd to think that we should meet again.
And though my grief would through my bosom rave,
I still would feel a thrill of pleasure given; For, though I knew that he was near his
grave, I knew that he was just as near his hea
O could the sons of dissipation see
And how the tones of tuneful melody
With every sigh and every accent blend :
And how the hope of heaven could him beguile,
The fear of dying, with its kind relief, Could they have seen the sunshine of his smile
Burst by its radiance through our tears of grief:
Although their world were laid upon the bier,
And though the measured toll had been
They would have left the world without a
And to its fading pleasures bid farewell.