THE LAME CHILD. I WILL not murmur, gracious Lord, Strength Thou deniest me; I'll rather count my little store Seldom if ever do I sigh, And wish the tedious time gone by, While I lack sport or toy; My tools, my books, my garden-flowers Fill up each day, and all its hours In pleasing tasks employ. THE PETREL. And mine may be the better part, Where saints in glory reign; At once released from care and sin, 117 THE PETREL. THIS is the bird that sweeps o'er the sea Fearless and rapid and strong is he; Birds of the sea, they rejoice in storms; They run and dive, and they whirl and fly, Where the glittering foam-spray breaks on high; And against the force of the strongest gale, All over the ocean, far from land, When the storm-king rises dark and grand, The mariner sees the petrel meet The fathomless waves with steady feet, And a tireless wing, and a dauntless breast, Without a home or a hope of rest. So, 'mid the contest and toil of life, My soul! when the billows of rage and strife P. BENJAMIN. THE MURDERED TRAVELLER. WHEN spring to woods and wastes around Brought bloom and joy again, The murder'd traveller's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen. The fragrant birch above him hung Her tassels in the sky; And many a vernal blossom sprung, And nodded careless by. |