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And dearer to his love, thy name,

Thy peace, Jerusalem-
Than the trumpet's loudest note of fame

Or the coronal's brightest gem.

Sped not to Palestine, men, who

Should fearless heralds prove?
Aye, they went forth and they were two*

In form, but one in love;
The field is ripe, and where are they?

Their path is now untrod;
Send labourers!—these have winged their way

To the city of our God.

EXPOSTULATION,

OCCASIONED BY THE REMOVAL OF THE CHEROKEES.

STAY, yet, white man, heaven no longer

Can thy lust of gain endure;
Stay thy hand, yet, bold oppressor,

Crush not the defenceless poor.

66

"Lo, the Indian!”-child of sorrow,

Remnant of a mighty race;
Grief is his, no ray of gladness

Beams upon his dwelling place.

* Messrs. Fisk and Parsons.

Free as were his mountain breezes,

Once he roamed, the son of kings, Boundless was his rude dominion,

Where he drank his native springs.

Wouldst thou chase him from his covert,

Bid him to the desert fly?Wouldst thou tear him from the hill-side,

Where his father's ashes lie?

Thou hast seen upon his reason

Science her mild influence pour; Thou hast seen the ray of Bethlehem

Shine, where all was night before.

Man! of these wouldst thou despoil him?

Filch his heaven-drive hope afar? Yes, for sordid gold, the white man

Would blot out Redemption's Star.

God of justice, though pavilioned

'Mid the thunder, misery's sigh Claims thy notice. Thou’rt a Helper, When no other help is nigh.

A 2

MRS. SARAH J

She wakes not-she whose look was love,

Whose voice was music's breath--
That angel-smile is caught above,

That voice is lost in death.
She that was beauteous and sincere,

To man's last foe hath bowed;
Each grace is now companion here

Unto the worm and shroud.

She wakes not-aye, from that long sleep

When shall earth's tenant wake? Dreams of the sepulchre are deep,

What shall those visions break? Unto that cell of gloom and damp,

Earth's tumults come not nigh; She wakes not at the hurried tramp,

Nor at the battle-cry.

She wakes not till the trumpet's tongue

Stirs shuddering sea and earth ; When worlds on worlds, in ruin flung,

Shall heave as at their birth. The heart that knew affliction's power,

The oft-dimmed eye, now sealed, Shall beat not, beam not, till that hour

In thunders is revealed.

She wakes not early ills to brave,

That bade her spirit bow;

The tears she unto sorrow gave,

Are gems of beauty now.
She wakes not-yea, she hath awoke!

Escaped from night below;
What floods of morn have on her broke,

That bright one, who may know?

TO MY TWO CHILDREN.

Ye are alive to bliss, my boys,

Your pulses beat to healthful play; Visions of peaceful heartfelt joys

Do they not hover o'er your way? Your bounding bosoms, light and free

Nor past nor future is their care; Sufficeth it alone, that ye

The bright alluring present share.

'Tis transient all--yet who shall break

The fair frail mirror of your mirth?
Ye are but dreamers ; who shall wake

Ye to realities of earth!
Dream on, dream on, it cannot last,

With boyhood will depart that dream; And soon, to retrospect, the past

But shadows of the dead shall seem.

Who would forget, that when a child,

Life put on lovely robes for him?

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That then imagination wild,

Flashed to the eyes that now are dim; Who can forget when hope danced high,

And Syren-Love of witchery sung? Some may forget, but ne'er shall I,

The white-winged hours when joy was young. Yea, though upon my tempered brow

Romance hath ceased to bind her flowers, 'Tis pleasant as I wander now,

To linger o'er my childish hours.
Green spot of life! how sweet to gaze

On bliss so simple, yet sincere;
To turn from the wild waste of days

And feast my aching vision here!
Aye, smile my boys, 't were better so,

Than darkly read the coming ill;
That chequered page the gray-haired know,

But heedlessness is childhood's still.
Blest ignorance! Compassion's balm,

To drug the life-cup of our tears; Existence, thou wouldst wear a charm

Did prescience come not with thy years. Laugh on, my children, while ye may,

Yours now is not the actor's part; That laugh, perchance, in future day,

May vainly hide a broken heart;
Yet lingers in your perfect bliss,

Ingenuous feeling, brightly new;
And childhood's love, and childhood's kiss,

Are ever holy, ever true.

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