"Is no power near to lift the heart, No sweetly bright and better part? "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; Rest for the weary one designed, "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? སཱ ལུག ཨ་ཡུག་བཤས་ལེས་ལེགས་ཀྱིས་ What pay for treasures ever new, "Who bids the bird-band sing 'All hail!' "Dost thou command the days to be, With treasure free the orchard tree? "They go and come; the day and night; The seasons come and go; The dark, the dawn, the daybeam bright; "All independent of thy care, Such common blessings come! Life, health, and strength, and vital air; 91 POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS. "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- And hear the Spirit say-"'Tis done! And blessed thou shalt be." He ceased. The spirit of the youth 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. شهر OUR WARM FIRESIDE. 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, And the candle at the casement, When we learn how stormy terror When we read of rage and riot, Led and praised by lust and pride; Then how dear the dove of quiet, 939 POEMS, TALES, AND SONGS. Out of doors, our deeds and dealings, Are, for others' sake, less free; There our voice may pause, or falter, SILENCED. A COTTAGE on a rising ground Where lofty hills arose around,— The dwelling, with its walls of stone, Don't murmur "'tis a lowly theme, |