Now sighs the widow unto the lone sea, "Bring her again! Bring her again! Sea, let the sad find a helper in thee!

Bring her again! Soon again!"

Wild was the parting, but may there not be

Tears which are blissful? when sings the old sea, "Mother and Child! thank the Good God for me; Meet, meet again! Meet again!"

SONG.

God Save the Queen.

FOR Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms, and what they bring,

Be our thanks given;

Thanks for the maiden's bloom;

For the sad prison's gloom;

And for the sadder tomb;

E'en as for Heav'n!

Great God, thy will is done,

When the soul's rivers run

Down the worn cheeks;

Done when the righteous bleed;
When the wrong'd vainly plead;

Done in th' unended deed,

When the heart breaks.

Lo, how the dutiful

Snows, clothe in beautiful

Life, the dead earth!

Lo, how the clouds distil

Riches o'er vale and hill,

While the storm's evil-will

Dies in its birth!

Bless'd is th' unpeopled down;

Bless'd is the crowded town,

Where the tired groan;

Pain but appears to be ;

What are Man's fears to Thee,

God! if all tears shall be

Gems on thy throne?

SONG.

Robin Adair.

WHEN the pale worker faints,

Making no moan,

Though his unutter'd plaints

Rise to God's throne,

What from despair can keep
Languor too tired to sleep,
Sorrow too sad to weep?

Music alone!*

Milton, poor, old, and blind,

Fated to bear

Worst woes that scourge his kind,
Did not despair :

What, behind curtains worn,

Where his night knew no morn,

Held up his heart forlorn ?

Music was there.

Then, to the hopeless one,

Thus, if you can,

Sing, weary wife or son,

Wasted and wan:

"Though pain our portion be,

High is our destiny:

Born thrall of poverty,

Still thou art Man!"

"Homer and Plato were

Kindred of thine;

With thee the angels share

Utt'rance divine;

It costs nothing, and the starving man has nothing.

Bring

music to the poor man's hearth, and he will not seek it in the ale

house.

Heav'n hath thine image got ;
Jesus partook thy lot;

And where night cometh not
Thy sun will shine."

PLAINT.

DARK, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.

O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.

Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Unto the land which no knows?

Though myriads go with him who goes,
Alone he goes where no wind blows,
Unto the land which no one knows.

For all must go where no wind blows, And none can go for him who goes; None, none return whence no one knows.

Yet why should he who shrieking goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Reunion seek with it or those?

Alone with God, where no wind blows, And Death, his shadow-doom'd, he goes: That God is there the shadow shows.

Oh, shoreless Deep, where no wind blows! And, thou, oh, Land which no one knows! That God is All, His shadow shows.