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These things are in my mind, but neuer yet
My euer liuing, euer longing King
For princes diademes,
Flaming with gemmes,
Of east and west,
An heart with penitence made new and cleane, Fill'd with faith, hope, and loue, inust be my strane.
My God, yt didst not slight,
The widowes mite,
You'r weary, precious ones ! your eyes
Are wandering far and wide;
Your tender thoughts to guide ;
Your fixed attention claim ?
That blessed mother's name!
"Tis time to say your evening hymn,
My youngest infant dove !
And learn the lay of love;
My poor, deserted throng!
Who sings the angels' song.
Begin, sweet birds, the accustomed strain,
Come, warble loud and clear; Alas! alas! you're weeping all,
You're sobbing in my ear!
Beside your little bed;
A father's hand your course may guide
Among the thorns of life;
That dread the storms of strife :
But who upon your infant hearts
Shall like that mother write?
Whence, oh sweet Spring, whence does thy balnay
air Borrow such touch of sadness? And thy sky So purely blue, so delicately fair,
Why does it so bedim the earnest eye ?
Alas, that gale o'er fairer flowers hath past
Was gilded by the suns of other days.
Thou wak'st remembrances, and dim regrets,
Summoning the lost the absent-ours no more; And
every sun of thine before it sets Tells us of days and scenes for ever o’er.
"Tis then from memory's holy land thy breath
Borrows such touch of sadness, and thy voice,
By her inspired, reminds our souls of death,
Of blighted hopes and well-remembered joys.
And shall it not remind us too of hope ?"
And bid us raise our sorrowing souls above ?' Where the bright skies no tinge of sadness wear
Through all the spring-time of eternal love.
Earth! guard what here we lay in holy trust;
That which hath left our home a darkened place; Wanting the form; the smile, now veiled in dust,
The light departed with our loveliest face: Yet from thy bonds undying hope springs free We have but lent' our beautiful to thee.
But thou, oh Heaven! keep, keep what thou hast
taken, And with our tears Oʻkeep our hearts on"high!. The spirit meek, and yet by pain unshaken,
The faith, the love, the lofty constancy, Guide us where these are with our sister flown They were of Thee, and thou hast claimed thine: THE DEATH OF A CHILD IN APRIL
(ADDRESSED TO ITS PARENTS.) Say, is it spring in heaven, as now on earth,
That tender buds should be demanded there ?. That from your flow'rets of terrestrial birth,
One, all acknowledged lovely, sweet and rare, Should thus be called and safely borne away. To ope its petals to celestial day?
You have one flow ret less, and He one more :
No change nor death may touch the gentle form Then do not grieve when more to you are given, To offer up one bud to bloom in heaven!
Whatever passes as a cloud, between