TO MY ELDEST DAUGHTER ON HER

BIRTHDAY.

R. R.

[EXTRACT.]

My Child-my first-my own and most dear child!
Thou who didst first convey unto my heart
The strong and sacred feeling, new and strange,
But ardent, tender, full of deep delight,
Of new-born happiness and first-felt joy,
Thee would I bless with all a father's love
On this important day which made thee mine,
And changed my being to its inmost core.

I always loved young children-always felt
That, pure and sinless, as the gifts of God,
They came to bless their parents, and to prove
That 't is "of such" are Heaven's kingdom. Yes,
"T was thus I felt when, on my nursing knees,
While yet a boy, or in my youthful arms,
I cherished some sweet babe, the child of those
Whom near relationship or friendship's bonds
(In youth contracted and by time confirmed)
Made dear to me.—When on their eyes I gazed,

AN NINH puise and to dwell

Talia dee, my Child!nies the cost must be,

1st we prize for our good, Y sin vision God rains.— And I have felt, in anxious moments oft, When on thy sleepless eyes and pallid face, With and affection I have looked, and watched less start, or touched thy throbbing pulse, each slightest change, each symptom

my hopes, or crushed me to the

weak is man, how great is God, noment's helplessness have owned trials, which we most would shun,

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221

AN EPITAPH ON A CHILDE.

The humbled heart is softened and improved.

Those times are passed,—and thou art now my
Friend!

No more an infant, or a playful child,

Thou now canst be companion of my mind,

And lend to me the strength which once I gave,
When thou wert helpless all.

AN EPITAPH ON A CHILDE, SONNE TO
SIR W. H. KNIGHT.

HERE lyes within a cabinet of stone,
The deare remainder of a prety one,
Who did in wit his yeares so farre outpasse,
His parents' wonder, and their joy he was.
And, by face, you might have deemed him
some heavenly cherubim :

life he laboured. Then deceast, Sabbath of eternal rest.

h many thousand able men,

g for, till three score yeers and ten,
d child attained to, ere seaven;

w enjoyes it with the saints in Heaven.

STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD.

C. E. DAPONTE.

THOU who art hid for ever from these eyes,
Thou who hast lain so long in that dark sleep,
Unconscious that thy mother still doth weep

Beside thy early tomb with heavy sighs,-
My own fair child, thy voice no more replies
To the accustomed call of her whose tone
Dies on the chilly wind unheard, unknown.

My child, thy spirit bending from the skies,

Can view the wretched in the hour of prayer. Look on me now—and though it may not be That I shall trace thy heavenly form in airShadow immortal that I cannot see,

O! wander round, and I shall deem I hear Thy low voice whisper-" Weep no more for me."

THE BLIND MUSICIAN'S SON.

CORNELIUS WEBBE.

TWELVE mournful months have passed away,
And I with grief have striven,
But find with each receding day,

The arrow deeper driven !—

The mother's tears the father's groan-

The silence of the friend—

The agony when left alone,

Tell not of sorrow's end!—

My cherished boy-my only one-
My joy in misery-

My hope in age-my gifted son,

Would I had died with thee !

Thou wert a star unto my way,-
In blindness, blessed light;
But now indeed I feel that day
Is double, double night!

Thy father's friends they all were thine ;-
They loved thy socialness,