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O happy arms, where cradled lies,
The darling of His grace !
Touches the tender brow !
To serve the Virgin-born.
To nurse for Jesus' sake :
A meaning half divine :
The deep yet eager view.
with such sweet grace? Whence thy reposing faith,
Though in our frail embrace ? O tender gem, and full of Heaven ! Not in the twilight stars on high, Not in the moist flowers at even
See we our God so nigh. Sweet one, make haste and know Him too, Thine own adopting Father love, That like thine earliest dew
Thy dying sweets may prove.
THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS.
THERE is a Reaper whose name is Death,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
"Shall I have nought that is fair?" saith he, "Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again.”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes,
It was for the Lord of Paradise,
He bound them in their sheaves.
"My Lord has need of these flow'rets gay,"
66 They shall all bloom in fields of light,
And saints, upon their garments white,
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
She knew she should find them all again
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
'Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
THE CHILD'S EVENING HYMN.
By E. M. CHANDLER. FATHER, while the daylight dies, Hear our grateful voices rise : For the blessings that we share, For thy kindness and thy care, For the joy that fills our breast, For the love that makes us blest,
We thank thee, Father. For an earthly father's arm, Shielding us from wrong and harm ; For a mother's watchful cares, Mingled with her many prayers ; For the happy kindred band, Midst whose peaceful links we stand,
We bless thee, Father. Yet while 'neath the evening skies, Thus we bid our thanks arise : Father, still we think of those, Who are bow'd with many woes, Whom no earthly parent's arm Can protect from wrong and harm ;
poor Slaves, Father. Ah! while we are richly blest, They are wretched and distrest : Outcasts in their native land, Crush'd beneath Oppression's hand, Scarcely knowing even Thee, Mighty Lord of earth and sea !
Oh, save them, Father!
Touch the flinty hearts, that long
eyes that long have been
And bless thee, Father.
By Mrs. SIGOURNEY.
“The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.”—Psalm, xiv.
“No God! no God!” The simplest flower
That on the wild is found,
And trembles at the sound.
From out her cavern hoar;
Reproves the atheist lore.
The Almighty to proclaim;
Doth leap to grave his name;
Along its billowy track,
To hurl the falsehood back.
The palm-tree, with its princely crest,
The cocoa's leafy shade,
In yon far island glade;
The roving sparrows feed,
Confute the scorner's creed.
"No God!" With indignation high
At such an impious word !
Look down with angry eye,
Passages for the Memory.
CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION.
The pious man In this bad world, when mists and couchant storms Hide Heaven's fine circlet, springs aloft in faith Above the clouds that threat him, to the fields Of ether, where the day is never veil'd With intervening vapours; and looks down Serene upon the troublous sea, that hides The earth's fair breast, that sea whose nether face, To groveling mortals frowns and darkens all ; But on whose billowy back, from man conceald, The glaring sunbeam plays.
H. K. WHITE.
TIME WELL SPENT.
Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone,