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And love, that keeps the music, fills
With pastoral memories !
All droppings from the skies,
So teach ye me the wisest part,
My little doves! to move
Assured by holy love,
To me fair memories belong
Of scenes that erst did bless;
And lasting thankfulness, —
I will have hopes that cannot fade,
For flowers the valley yields,
Of silent, dewy fields !
TROUBADOUR SONG. – Mrs. Hemans.
The warrior crossed the ocean's foam
For the stormy fields of war,
And a sunny land, afar.
His voice was heard where javelin-showers
Poured on the steel-clad line;
Her seat beneath the vine.
His shield was cleft, his lance was riven,
And the red blood stained his crest; While she — the gentlest wind of heaven
Might scarcely fan her breast.
Yet a thousand arrows passed him by,
And again he crossed the seas; But she had died, as roses die,
That perish with a breeze.
As roses die, when the blast is come
For all things bright and fair, — There was death within the smiling home,
How had death found her there?
HUMAN FRAILTY.- Corper.
WEAK and irresolute is man,
The purpose of to-day,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent and smart the spring,
Vice seems already slain;
And it revives again.
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
But pleasure wins his heart.
'T is here the folly of the wise,
Through all his art, we view;
His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length,
And dangers little known,
Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail
To reach the distant coast;
Or all the toil is lost.
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. — Pope.
FATHER of all! in every age,
In every clime, adored,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined
And that myself am blind ;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives,
To enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound; Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay ;
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe;
To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
SIR PATRICK SPENCE
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quickened by thy breath; 0, lead me, wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot;
All else beneath the sun
And let thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
All nature's incense rise!
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine : “O, where shall I get a skeely skipper
To sail this ship of mine ?”
0, up and spake an eldern knight, —
Sat at the king's right knee, – 66 Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the sea.”
The king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it with his hand;
Was walking on the strand,
“ To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;
'T is thou maun bring her hame.”