THE LOVE OF GOD.

2.

LOVE Thee!-oh, clad in human lowliness,
-In Whom each heart its mortal kindred knows--
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes,
A fellow wanderer o'er earth's wilderness!

Love Thee! Whose every word but breathes to bless!
Through Thee, from long-sealed lips, glad language

flows;

The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose;
And babes, unchid, Thy garment's hem caress.
-I see Thee, doomed by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps, move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony,
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
Though all-even there-be radiant Deity!
-Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is Love!

TO THE HON. WILLIAM LAMB.

BY LADY CAROLINE LAMB.

THOUGH all at once, unheard, reprove me,
Left-alike by friend and foe,

-I will not shrink, if thou but love me,
No hand but thine can strike the blow.

And sayest thou that I dare not face

The storm that bursts above my head! -The proud most keenly feel disgrace, And 'tis disgrace, alone, I dread.

I fear not censure's bitter sneer,
I heed not envy's venomed tongue,
Nor had'st thou seen one woman's tear,
If my own heart had known no wrong.

And even though wrong, if thou can'st love me,
Or friend, or foe, may frown on me ;-
Their barbarous rage shall never move me,
If blest by one kind word from thee!

THE DYING GIRL.

A POETIC SKETCH.

OH! lead me forth-and let me gaze,
Once more, upon the moon's soft rays;
View, once again, the starry sky,
Drink of the balmy air,—and die!
This fading form no spell may save,
"Tis passing to the welcome grave:
-Ere yonder blossom's dewy trauce
Shall melt before the morning glance,-

'Ere yet the early lark shall wake,
This heart-oh, what a joy!—must break.

I weep,

but 'tis not that I grieve

This sweet and sunny world to leave,-
I mourn the barter of my youth
For treason in the form of truth;
I deemed not that this weary breast
So soon should wander to its rest;
But quick life's golden chain decays,
When falsehood's mildew on it preys,

-I felt the rust within my soul

Gnaw link from link!-now snaps the whole!

P

Thou wilt be near, when I am laid
In the dark churchyard's darkest shade;
But place no stone to tell the spot,
-For was I not in life forgot!

And this high spirit would disdain

The sigh that comes-when sighs are vain,

The tears-his tears—which would not flow
Till she for whom they fall was low!
And let no summer blossoms wave,
To mock my lone and lowly grave:
Roses torn rudely from their bed,
Crushed-broken-scentless-bloomless-dead,

Fling on my grave—and they shall be
In their bruised beauty, types of me!

Enough!-yet oh! if near this way,
His steps they will should ever stray,
Tell him-and chide not that in death
The tremblings of my latest breath
Faltered-to curse him?-no, oh no!
-The words would choke me in their flow!
Deep in my soul I love him still,

Through slight and suffering-wrong and ill!

Tell him the prayer breathed long and last
Was peace and pardon for the past;

That, pausing on the verge of time,
—May heaven forgive me, if 'tis crime !—
My latest, fondest thoughts were given
To him who was-on earth-my heaven!

ELIZA.

THE WIFE.

A TALE.

MARY, a young and beautiful wife, sat reading by the window. Sometimes, she looked from her book to admire, unnoticed, the exquisite beauty of her little boy, an infant of two years old, whose round and dimpled limbs he displayed, in a thousand fantastic positions, on the hearth-rug. She admired, in every movement, the gracefulness of nature; and then turned her radiant countenance, beaming with fondness, on her husband. Thankfulness was at her heart, too full for words-thankfulness for this pledge of their mutual love-thankfulness for hes Frederick's tried affection, proof against absence, dissipation, variety, riches,-all the world's dangerous seductions. As she mentally enumerated the blessings of her lot,-state-station-youth-beautyfortune and then a husband (such a husband) for whom she would have sacrificed unmurmuringly each and all these blessings-and then her cherub boy, more beautiful than fabled love, she paused to think how she had deserved thus to obtain every concentrated joy. "Not in my desert, but in thine infinite goodness, oh! my God, do I find the cause of my