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Some will hate thee, some will love thee,
Some will flatter, some will slight;
“Trust in God, and do the right.'
No lark.could pipe to skies so dull and grey ;
For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who would be clever,
Do noble deeds, not dream them, all day long, And so make life, death, and that vast for ever,
One grand, sweet song.
ST. HELEN’S-AUCKLAND.-Sir H. Taylor.
My boyhood's home in view,
Are welling forth anew.
They bring again to light
Were trackless in their flight.
How much more changed am I,
How is the distant nigh!
The terrace flags are green-
I am what I have been.
Are what none other hears ;
Though mine are dim with tears.
The breaking of the summer's morn
The tinge on house and tree-
Of that celestial sea,
Lit by the golden gleam;
Surrounds me like a dream.
Those tints, too bright to last ;
And let the past be past.
Of earth, can ne'er be stay'd ;
Of morning, needs must fade :
So let me hope, and far
Shall shine another star.
Are lights and guides allow'd ;
But parting, sends the cloud.
Of life to leave behind ;
My gain the graver mind.
THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD.-7. H. Newman.
Lead Thou me on!
Lead Thou me on!
I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou
Shouldst lead me on.
Lead Thou me on!
Will lead me on,
The night is gone ;
TO A CHILD.-F. T. Palgrave. IF by any device or knowledge
The rosebud its beauty could know, It would stay a rosebud for ever,
Nor into its fulness grow. And if thou could'st know thy own sweetness,
O little one, perfect and sweet ! Thou would'st be child for ever ;
Completer whilst incomplete.
ON AN INFANT NEPHEW.-W. M. Przede
The little one,--the little one !
'Tis a fearful thing and strange, That the silent seasons as they run.
Should work such mighty change ; The lips that cannot lisp my name
May rule the stern debate ;
Sport with the falchion's weight !
In the wide world, I wis,
Of beauty like to this.
In youth and age, earth's sinful learen
Where'er we go we trace;
In the smile of an infant's face.
He is all wit and whim ;
And a waveless sea for him.
Nor pleasure's flowery snare,
Nor the haggard cheek of care.
A mystery is the love
It cometh from above.
All glory to their sight,
Their thought and dream by night.
How blest the earth would be,
No more of wrong than he !
On the baby's brow be set, -
Or read the sentence yet?
A rainbow in the sky :
Or let me die !
MARGARET WILSON.-F. T. Palgrave. FOUR children at their little play Across the iron-furrow'd way ; Joyous in all the joy of May. Three, babies; and one, Margaret, In charge upon the others set To lift and soothe them if they fret. The sky is blue; the sun is bright; The little voices, pure and light, Make music as they laugh outright. The noiseless weight of giant wheels Amongst them in a moment steals, And death is rolling at their heels. She ran with one to reach the side, And reach'd it, and look'd back, and spied, Where the dark wheels right towards them slide, The other two, that were forgot, Playing by Death, and knowing not; And drew them to the narrow spot Between the rails and platform-side, Safe nestling down ;-but as they glide The wheel-rods struck her, and she died. By those she died for there she lay, Nor any word could Margaret say, But closed her eyes, and pass'd away. - My little heroine ! though I ne'er Can look upon thy features fair, Nor kiss the lips that mangled were : Too small a thing from Fame to have A portion with the great and brave, And unknown in thy lowly grave: Yet thy true heart and fearless faith, And agony of love in death God saw, and He remembereth.