Malion, the children of whose love, grown, in youth have past, Each to his grawe, And now the mould less fresh above The dearest and the last Pride, who dost wear the unde's veel Pefore the wedding flowers are pale, He deem the human heart endors No deepes billeven griest than gourd. Mr Cullen Bryants THE LIVING LOST. Nor to the world's cold pity show Wrung from their eyelids by the shame Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead: Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve; And honored ye who grieve. But ye, who for the living lost That agony in secret bear, Who shall with soothing words accost WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, On a bright May morning long ago, The place is little changed, Mary; 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, But the graveyard lies between, Mary, LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; The few our Father sends ! Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone. There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow; I bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word When your heart was sad and sore: O, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, Where grief can't reach you more! I'm bidding you a long farewell, A CHRISTMAS HYMN. They say there's bread and work for all, And often in those grand old woods And my heart will travel back again Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. MRS. BLACKWOOD, (Lady Dufferin.) A CHRISTMAS HYMN. It was the calm and silent night! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars: Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago! |