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Yet while I hover o'er thee,
Upon thy cheek, the tear Hath fallen, as before me,
Life's numerous ills appear ; O Heaven! avert, or lighten,
Those ills, and if astray Thou goest, may Hope's star brighten,
And guide thee on the way.
0, waken from thy slumber,
My cherub boy, that I May every beauty number,
That glances from thy eye; Beneath those fringes darting,
Are beams I long to see ; Those ruby lips, disparting,
Should lisp of love to me.
I gaze—and still new pleasures
My bosom overflow;
O tell me, best of treasures !
What is it moves me so?
Yet hush! I would not wake thee,
So tranquil is thy rest;
To sleep again betake thee,
Thy couch a mother's breast.
THERE IS AN HOUR OF PEACEFUL REST.
THERE is an hour of peaceful rest,
To mourning wanderers given ;
There is a joy for souls distressed,
A balm for every wounded breast-
'Tis found above, in heaven.
There is a soft, a downy bed,
Far from these shades of even ;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose in heaven,
There is a home for weary souls,
By sin and sorrow driven; When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise and ocean rolls,
And all is drear-'tis heaven.
There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye,
The heart no longer riven ;
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene in heaven.
There fragrant flowers, immortal, bloom,
And joys supreme are given :
There rays divine disperse the gloom-
Beyond the confines of the tomb
Appears the dawn of heaven.
FILIAL Devotion! dear the tie
That binds the parent to the child ;
"Tis from affection's rich supply,
The streams of bliss flow undefiled ;
What youthful mind loves not to dwell
On deeds which care parental prove?
What child whose bosom doth not swell
With gratitude and Filial Love?
If such there be—from haunts of men
Let the unhallowed wretch withdraw,
Fitter to guard the scorpion's den,
Or wait the cruel tiger's law.
How tender are the hourly cares,
That with the mother's love entwine ;
How holy are the frequent prayers
The father pours at midnight's shrine;
Filial Devotion! Gratitude !
Emotions to the bosom dear-
I would not on the heart intrude,
That never gave to you the tear;
And hast thou, O my spirit, scanned
With equal zeal, His guardian power,
Whose breath supports, whose bounteous hand,
Unaided, holds existence' hour ?
While, day by day, the full supplies
Thou need’st, are given thee from above;
Wilt thou not humbly recognise
In these, a watchful Father's love?
Recipient of a liberal store,
The pensioner of Mercy's throne,
Wilt thou not contritely adore
The Source of life and love alone?
Great Parent! while I intercede
For daily bread to strengthen me,
May I, with holy fervour, plead
Thy quickening grace to worship Thee.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW.
My heart is desolate and sad, -
Others may dream, yet unto me
The visions that my boyhood had,
Are lost in dull reality ;
I sometimes wish my soul were not
By sorrow stern, compelled to bow;
Yet wherefore ? 'twill be all forgot
One Hundred Years from Now.
The friends I had, the hungry tomb
Hath stolen away, or, bitterer still,
Coldness hath nipped their love in bloom,
And kindly thoughts are turned to ill;
'Tis sad to mourn the buried friend,
Most sad to meet the altered brow;
Yet what of this !-all care will end
One Hundred Years from Now.