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A GLIMPSE OF PARADISE.
Not many rays of heaven's unfallen sun
Nor oft with glory tint its faded flowers:
Like Peri from her amaranthine bowers, Or ministering angel, sent to bless, "Twas to thy hearth, domestic happiness! Where, in the sunshine of a peaceful home, Love's choicest roses bud, and burst, and bloom, And bleeding hearts, lull'd in a holy calm, Bathe their deep wounds in Gilead's healing balm.
A DEBT OF LOVE.
THOU, more than all endeared to this glad heart
That spring spontaneous from a heart, imbued, With the sweet wish of living but to please;
Due for thy liberal hand, thy frugal mind, Thy pitying eye, thy voice for ever kind, For tenderness, truth, confidence, all these:
My heaven-blest vine, that hast thy tendrils twin'd Round one who loves thee, though his strain be rude, Accept thy best reward, thy husband's gratitude.
TO LITTLE ELLEN.
My precious babe, my guileless little girl,
With young intelligence, and infant grace; And must the wintry breath of life efface Thy purity, fair snow-drop of the spring?
Must evil taint thee, must the world enthrall Thine innocent mind, poor harmless little thing? Ah, yes! thou too must taste the cup of woe, Thy heart must learn to grieve, as others do, Thy soul must feel life's many-pointed sting:
But fear not, darling child, for well I know Whatever cares may meet thee, ills befall,
Thy God, thy father's God, shall lead thee safe through all.
ON THE BIRTH OF LITTLE MARY.
Lo, Thou hast crowned me with another blessing,
All good, all kind, all wise in Thee possessing,
And still thy princely hand doth without ceasing pour: For the sweet fruit of undecaying love
Clusters in beauty round my cottage door,
And this new little one, like Noah's dove,
Comes to mine ark with peace, and plenty for my store. O happy home, O bright and cheerful hearth!
Look round with me, my lover, friend, and wife,
On these fair faces we have lit with life,
And, in the perfect blessing of their birth,
Help me to live our thanks for so much heaven on earth.
DAYS GONE BY.
THOUGH We charge to-day with fleetness,
Yes, though Time has laid his finger
On them, still with streaming eye There are spots where I can linger, Sacred to the days gone by.
Oft as memory's glance is ranging
Sorrowful should I be, and lonely,
Cease, fond heart, to thee are given
Brighter than the days gone by:
Faith lifts off the sable curtain
Hope accounts her prize as certain,
Love in grateful adoration
Bids distrust and sorrow fly, And with glad anticipation
Calms regret for days gone by.
thou rarest, best, and brightest! Who would not gladly hide thee in his heart, With all thine angel guests?-for thou delightest
To bring such with thee, guests that ne'er depart; Cherub, with what enticement thou invitest,
Perfect in winning beauty as thou art,
Fain would he be frank-hearted, generous, cheerful,
All are not friends, whom friends he longs to call; For prudence makes men cold, and misery tearful, And interest bids them rise upon his fall,
And while they seek their selfish own to cherish,
Man may rejoice that thy sweet influence hallows
His intercourse with all he loves — in heaven;
Nor mix with them untainted by their leaven?
Reserve's cold breath has chilled each warmer feeling,
Unjust neglect has pierced him, past all healing,
His mind, much wronged, and little understood;
Yet the belief that he was loved by other
Could root and hurl that mountain in the sea, Oblivion's depth the height of ill would smother,
And all forgiven, all forgotten be;
Man then could love his once injurious brother
With such a love as none can give but he:
Soft rain, and zephyrs, and warm noons can vanquish
Once more the smiling valleys cease to languish,
The heart that loved not, when reviled and crost,