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Those mothers' hymns "my soul" would join,
His gift again to Him I give,
When on his brow the holy sign
Blessings above, the same beneath—
A loftier height upon that hill
I see, a purer water still
Than sparkles in baptismal font—
To those, through these, my soul would mount.
Blame not my haste! life's speeding on,
Still, dear ones on their boughs remain
Nov. lath, 1849. H. V. T. THE MANGER-PRINCE.
• .Cute i. 46,18. + Ps. cxvi. 9. J John x. 23.
t "He, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next."—Coioper.
Ye golden harp'd angels, oh, sing the strange story
The seven-hilled despot had scorned, had he known
'Twas not heeded or known by the great ones on earth,
But the shepherd-kings knew—they who dwelt where the tide
Of mighty Euphrates rolls headlong and wide;
They girded their loins, and obedient they sped,
To the spot where the strange-flaming meteor-star led.
Not the great, or the noble, or mighty of earth,
Can hurl huge mountains down?
For an immortal crown?
When circle round the powers of harm,
In danger's threatening hour?
'Tis Faith's Almighty power!
Blest faith,—from sin a glad release,
"Hence vain deluding" fears; Faith like a bright un-moon-dimmed star, Lighteth our voyagings from far,
Through this sad sea of tears.
Hold on, lone spirit, nor repine,
With dim, uncertain light:
There, faith is changed to sight. S. X.
It tells us of a future doom,
And bids us flee the wrath to come;
Or points the Christian's dying eyes,
To glorious mansions in the skies.
The Spirits sharp and two-edged sword,
The Cov'nant of th' Eternal word—
Oft has it made the darkness light,
And "kept the Christian's armour bright."
A Compass, guiding o'er life's sea,
An Album of sweet poetry;
An Arbiter of joy or woe,
As each may be its friend or foe.
As Rain, and Dew, whose gentle show'rs,
Dispense new life to human flow'rs;
A Sign-post, on the world's wide road,
To point to heav'n, to bliss, to God.
Long, long may every swelling tide,
Ye who would save your features florid,
Adopt this plan;—
A hale old man.
Avoid in youth luxurious diet,
Bo wisely gay:
Seek not in mammon's worship pleasure,
The mind, not sense,
This is the solace, this the science,
Whate'er his state;
Time, fortune, fate.
Utica Asylum Souvenir.