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Some will hate thee, some will love thee,

Some will flatter, some will slight;
Cease from men, and look above thee,

“Trust in God, and do the right.'

A FAREWELL.-Kingsley.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;

No lark.could pipe to skies so dull and grey ;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you

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.
I WANDER o'er each well-known field

My boyhood's home in view,
And thoughts that were as fountains seald

Are welling forth anew.
The ancient house, the aged trees,

They bring again to light
The years that like a summer's breeze

Were trackless in their flight.
How much is changed of what I see,

How much more changed am I,
And yet how much is left—to me

How is the distant nigh!
The walks are overgrown and wild,

The terrace flags are green-
But I am once again a child,

I am what I have been.
The sounds that round about me rise

Are what none other hears ;
I see what meets no other eyes,

Though mine are dim with tears.

The breaking of the summer's morn

The tinge on house and tree-
The billowy clouds, the beauty born

Of that celestial sea,
The freshness of the faëry land

Lit by the golden gleam;
It is my youth that where I stand

Surrounds me like a dream.
Alas the real never lent

Those tints, too bright to last ;
They fade, and bid me rest content

And let the past be past.
The wave that dances to the breast

Of earth, can ne'er be stay'd ;
The star that glitters in the crest

Of morning, needs must fade :
But there shall flow another tide,

So let me hope, and far
Over the outstretch'd waters wide

Shall shine another star.
In every change of Man's estate

Are lights and guides allow'd ;
The fiery pillar will not wait,

But parting, sends the cloud.
Nor mourn I less the manly part

Of life to leave behind ;
My loss is but the lighter heart,

My gain the graver mind.

THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD.-7. H. Newman.
LEAD Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,

Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;

Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see
The distant way-one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou

Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to see and choose my path ; but now

Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on,
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone ;
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile !

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 ;
And the hands too weak for childhood's game

Sport with the falchion's weight !
The beauteous one,—the beauteous one !

In the wide world, I wis,
There's many a beauteous thing, but none

Of beauty like to this.

In youth and age, earth's sinful learen

Where'er we go we trace;
But there is only peace and Heaven

In the smile of an infant's face.
The merry one,-the merry one !

He is all wit and whim ;
Our life has nought but a cloudless sun

And a waveless sea for him.
He knows not sorrow's thorny path,

Nor pleasure's flowery snare,
Nor heeds the bitter glance of wrath,

Nor the haggard cheek of care.
The cherished one,-the cherished one !

A mystery is the love
Of parents for their infant son ;

It cometh from above.
He is all music to their ear,

All glory to their sight,
By day he is their hope and fear,

Their thought and dream by night.
The guiltless one,- the guiltless one!

How blest the earth would be,
If her best and holiest men had done

No more of wrong than he !
If the blot of sin and the doom of pain

On the baby's brow be set, -
O brother !—who shall see the stain

Or read the sentence yet?

THE RAINBOW.-Wordsworth.
My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky :
So was it when my life began ;
So is it now I am a man ;
So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die !
The child is father of the man,
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

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.

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