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The distant dear ones, and would talk of them
At midnight when he trod the silent deck
With him he valued, -talk of them, of joys
Which he had known,- oh God! and of the hour
When they should meet again, till his full heart,
His manly heart, at times would overflow,
Even like a child's, with very tenderness.
Peace to his honest spirit! suddenly
It came, and merciful the ball of death,
That it came suddenly and shattered him,
Nor left a moment's agonising thought
On those he loved so well.

He ocean deep

Now lies at rest.

Be thou her comforter,

Who art the widow's friend! Man does not know
What a cold sickness made her blood run back
When first she heard the tidings of the fight!
Man does not know with what a dreadful hope
She listened to the names of those who died;
Man does not know, or knowing will not heed,
With what an agony of tenderness

She gazed upon her children, and beheld
His image who was gone. O God! be thou,
Who art the widow's friend, her comforter!

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7

NORMAN PILGRIMS.

THE CROSS.

BY J. F. HOLLINGS.

OVER many a mountain steep;
Many a river still and deep;
Many a plain whose meadows lie
Bright beneath the summer sky;
Through the gloom by forests made;
And the tangled valley's shade,
Chequered by the glancing sun,
Hath the Pilgrim's way been won.
Yet the plain's prolonged extent,
And the mountain's rude ascent,
River's width, and valley's length,
Little waste their steadfast strength;
While the holy symbol bright
Glistens frequent in their sight;
And that pledge of gifts untold,
Like the pillared flame of old,
Wheresoe er beneath their tread,
Wilds more desolate are spread,
With its renovating power

Shines to cheer the toilsome hour.

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Traced through many a varied scene Thus our earthly course hath been ; And perchance ere life shall set Many a toil may wait us yet; But, if graved with deathless lines In our heart that symbol shines, Which to aid and comfort nigh, Thus but meets the outward eye; All that cheers our travel here— All of anguish-trouble-fearDoubt and discontent and pain Shall beset our path in vain. Lighted by its far shed gleam Life one reign of hope shall seem, Earth a scene by beauty drest— Heaven a glorious home of rest; Gladness as the morning light Shall be on each rugged height; In the darkest valley's shade Peace shall meet us undismayed, And each track the desert shows Bloom with promise as the rose.

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