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PRAYERS AT SEA.

BY MRS. SIGOURNEY.

PRAYER may be sweet, in cottage homes
Where sire and child devoutly kneel,
While through the open casement nigh
The vernal blossoms fragrant steal.

Prayer may be sweet, in stately halls,
Where heart with kindred heart is blent,

And upward to the Eternal Throne
The hymn of praise melodious sent.

But he, who fain would know how warm
The soul's appeal to God may be,
From friends and native lands should turn,

A wanderer on the faithless sea:

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Should hear its deep, imploring tone
Rise heavenward o'er the foaming surge,

When billows toss the fragile bark,

And fearful blasts the conflict urge.

Naught, naught around, but waves and skies,
No refuge where the foot may flea,
How will he cast, O, Rock Divine!

The anchor of his hope in Thee.

TOWN AND COUNTRY.

THEODORE S. FAY.

CAN there be two things more unlike than the city and country? In the first, you have only air, light, and a piece of blue sky stretching above the compact rows of brick walls, to remind you of the original appearance of our planet. The very people seem animals of a different species as they push by, or peradventure almost run over you in the hurry of business. I have sometimes thought that real civility (I mean among strangers) decreased exactly in proportion to your approach to the metropolis. Away off in some obscure and quiet country village, you receive a polite salutation from every passenger; and troops of little girls and boys returning from school, address you with bows and courtesies of profound respect; but as you travel nearer the mighty Babel, you perceive a diminution of that pleasing tribute, till at length you reach the thronged streets, and, like a drop in the sea, are melted into the general mass, where much care is requisite to preserve your neck and your pocket book,

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