Bnt no, that look is not the last, We yet may meet where seraphs dwell, Where love no more deplores the past, Nor breathes that withering word-Farewell! W. B. PEABODY. LUCY GRAY. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray; I chanced to see at break of day No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray "To-night will be a stormy night— And take a lantern, child, to light 66 That, Father! will I gladly do: The minster clock has just struck two, Not blither is the mountain roe: Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: And many a hill did Lucy climb: The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. They wept and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet;" When, in the snow, the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downward from the steep hill's edge They tracked the foot-marks small; And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the long stone-wall; 24 A MOTHER'S THANKSGIVING. And then an open field they crossed- They tracked them on, nor ever lost; They followed from the snowy bank And further there was none ! Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough aud smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song, That whistles in the wind. WORDSWORTH. A MOTHER'S THANKSGIVING. Is there, in bowers of endless spring, Here let me speed; to-day this hallowed air Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer. Only let Heaven her fire impart, No richer incense breathes on earth! "A spouse with all a daughter's heart" Fresh from the perilous birth, To thee, great Father, lifts her pale, glad eye, Like a reviving flower when storms are hushed on high. O what a treasure of sweet thought Is here! what hope and joy and love All in one tender bosom brought, To the all gracious Dove To brood o'er silently, and form for heaven Each passionate wish and dream, to dear affection given. Her fluttering heart, too keenly blessed, And breathes serene and free. Slight tremblings only of her veil declare Soft answers duly whispered to each soothing prayer. 26 THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. We are too weak, when thou dost bless To bear the joy,-help virgin-born; By thine own mother's first caress That waked thy natal morn! Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made A heaven on earth around the couch where thou wast laid! KEEBLE. THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. My child was beautiful and brave I As e'en the best beloved must be- Methinks 't had been a comfort now To have caught his parting breath- Farewell, farewell, my dearest ! |