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Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
Come, not in terrors, as the King of kings;
I need thy presence every passing hour :
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless :
Hold then thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the
skies : Heaven's morning breaks, and earth’s vain sha
dows flee; In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!
A Freshly Gathered Lily. HE E was our father's darling,
A bright and happy boy-
Of innocence and joy;
Fell softly on the ear,
Might linger long to hear.
Her life's untarnished lightHer blessed joy by morning,
Her visioned hope by night:
That brighten all below;
Of sunset's gorgeous glow.
A very child of glee,
Scarce higher than our knee;
Were wild as mountain wind; His laugh, the free unfettered laugh
Of childhood's chainless mind.
He was our brothers' treasure,
Their bosom's only prideA fair depending blossom
By their protecting side:
A thing to watch and cherish,
With varying hopes and fearsTo make the slender, trembling reed
Their staff for future years.
He is—a blessed angel,
His home is in the sky;
Beneath his Maker's eye:
A bud of early doom,
A Noon-Day Hymn. UP to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn; And He accepts the punctual hymn, Sung as the light of day grows dim.
Nor will He turn his ear aside From holy offerings at noontide; Then, here reposing, let us raise A song of gratitude and praise.
What though our burden be not light,
Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
Why should we crave a hallowed spot ?
to heaven! the industrious sun
Lord! since his rising in the east,
Help with thy grace through life's short day,
Autumn Sabbath Walk. WHEN homeward bands their several ways
disperse, I love to linger in the narrow field Of rest; to wander round from tomb to tomb, And think of some who silent sleep below.
Sad sighs the wind, that from those ancient elms Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered
grass : The sere and yellow wreaths with eddying sweep Fill up
the furrows 'tween the hillocked graves. But list that moan ! 'tis the poor blind man's dog, His guide for many a day, now come to mourn The master and the friend, conjunction rare ! A man he was indeed of gentle soul, Though bred to brave the deep; the lightning's
flash Had dimmed, not closed, his mild but sightless
eyes. He was a welcome guest through all his range; (It was not wide,) no dog would bay at him: Children would run to meet him on his way, And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb His knees, and wonder at his oft-told tales ; Then would he teach the elfins how to plait The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy ship; And I have seen him lay his tremulous hand Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips. Peace to thy spirit! that now looks on me Perhaps with greater pity than I felt To see thee wandering darkling on thy way. But let me quit this melancholy spot, And roam where nature gives a parting smile. As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod That copes the sheep-fold ring; and in the woods A second blow of many flowers appears ; Flowers faintly tinged and breathing no perfume.