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The more we know of earthly grief,
Of Disappointment's chill, The more we turn to seek relief
From something cherish'd still. Who can have pass'd thro' life, nor known
One whom the heart would fain Have lov'd and cherish'd as its own
One it would meet again ?
Here, then, we make our stand--on this
Our strong appeal we rest ;
By every heart confest:
That heart has liv'd in vain;
BY JAMES MONTGOMERY, ESQ.
The Bird that soars on highest wing
Builds on the ground her lowly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing,
Sings in the shade when all things rest: - In Lark and Nightingale we see What honour hath Humility.
When Mary chose the better part,
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; 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
crown, 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 for
get; 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
task'd, 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,
A promise would alleviate my pain ; And though I wept to think that we must
part, I joy'd to think that we should meet again.
And though my grief would through my
I still would feel a thrill of pleasure given; For, though I knew that he was near his grave,
(ven. I knew that he was just as near his hea() could the sons of dissipation see
How peacefully the Christian meets his
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
Although their world were laid upon the
bier, And though the measured toll had been
its knell, They would have left the world without a
And to its fading pleasures bid farewell.