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"Is no power near to lift the heart,
By sorrow darkly bow'd?

No sweetly bright and better part ?
No sun above the cloud?

"Has gratitude no holy charm?
Is blessing but a breath?

Is that call'd fire, which cannot warm?
Is life the same as death ?

"Oh! there is music for the mind; And, for the heart, good cheer! Rest for the weary one designed, And joys for ever dear!

"Come now, with me; attend, and see,
Some blessings close at hand,

Whose worth, altho' supremely free,
Thou canst not understand!

"When didst thou buy the lovely light
Of yonder setting sun?

Or pay the moon to rule the night,
Or stars to sing of skill and might,
When pleasant day is done?

With whom didst bargain for the dew,
And fertilizing showers?

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What pay for treasures ever new,
That beautify the summer view,—
For trees, and fruits, and flowers?

“Who bids the bird-band sing ‘All hail!'

While mists the morn bedim ?
Didst thou engage the nightingale,
That to the sleep of peaceful vale

Singeth an evening hymn ?

"Dost thou command the days to be,

That bring the bloom; or gem
With treasure free the orchard tree?
Thou know'st if they came not to thee,
Thou couldst not go to them.


They go and come; the day and night;
The seasons come and go;

The dark, the dawn, the daybeam bright;
The vernal song, the summer light:
Command'st thou them? Oh, no!

"All independent of thy care,

Such common blessings come!
Affection's form and spirit fair;
Life, health, and strength, and vital air;
Say, canst thou count the sum ?

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"And if we sin,-for all have sinn’d,—
Yet, mourner, thou may'st cast
Thy weary weeping to the wind;
Though fiends have o'er thy falling grinn'd,
There's pardon for the past!

"Oh! soar to Him-the Holy One-
Who stoop'd to death for thee!
Behold the Father in the Son;
And hear the Spirit say-"'Tis done!
The prize of happiness is won!'

And blessed thou shalt be."

He ceased. The spirit of the youth
Rose from its bondage, wing'd with truth,

As leaves a bird its cage:
He well remembers, when the west

Is in its dying splendour drest,

The word that wed his heart to rest,

The lesson of the sage.


WHEN on hill, and slope, and dingle,
At the setting of the sun;
Shadows deepen, meet and mingle,—

Coldly weaving into one;

When there's not a stray beam threading,
Through the darkness, deep and wide;
Then as welcome as a wedding,
Is our warm fireside!

When the house, from roof to basement, Wonders at the winter's rout;

And the candle at the casement,

Is, by sudden gust, put out;
When the frost-winds, wildly flitting,
Through the raven darkness ride;
What care we, serenely sitting,
By our warm fireside

When we learn how stormy terror
Chaseth peace from lands afar;
When we hear of hate and horror,

Rampant in the realm of war;
When we read of rage and riot,

Led and praised by lust and pride;
Then how dear the dove of quiet,
At our warm fireside!

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Out of doors, our deeds and dealings,
Are, for others' sake, less free ;
There our thoughts, as well as feelings,

Must in bound behaviour be;
There our voice may pause, or falter,
Lest we pierce another's pride;
But 'tis freedom's fane and altar,-
Is our fair fireside!


A COTTAGE on a rising ground

Where lofty hills arose around,—
Hills, bold and bare, to bar the storms,
Like friendly, peace preserving forms,—
A cottage there in quiet lay,
Looking towards the rising day.

The dwelling, with its walls of stone,
By the wayside stood, not alone;
But had its neighbours, two or three,
And, in the village near might be,
Peopled by-not exactly poor-
A hundred surely, less or more.

Don't murmur 66
'tis a lowly theme,
And may be but an idle dream;"

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