Imatges de pÓgina


On! say not woman's lot is hard,

Her path a path of sorrow;
To-day perchance some joy debarred,

May yield more joy to-morrow, It is not hard-it cannot be,

To speak in tones of gladness, To hush the sigh of misery,

And sooth the brow of sadness.

It is not hard, sweet flowers to spread

To strew the path with roses, To smooth the couch and rest the head,

Where some loved friend reposes : It is not hard to trim the hearth,

For brothers home returning, To wake the songs of harmless mirth

When winter fires are burning.


It is not hard, a sister's love

with love as tender; When cares perplex and trials prove,

A sister's help to render :
It is not hard, when troubles come,

And doubts and fears distressing,
To shelter in a father's home,

And feel a mother's blessing.

It is not hard, when storms arise

'Mid darkness and dejection, To look to heaven with trusting eyes,

And ask its kind protection;
Then say not woman's lot is hard,

Her path the path of sorrow,
To-day perchance some joy debarred,

Nay yield sweet peace to-morrow.


• What is life?' 'tis a delicate shell,

Flung up with eternity's flow,
On time's bank of quicksand to dwell,

And a moment its loveliness show.
Gone back to its element, grand,

Is the billow that brought it on shore : See, another is dashing the strand,

And the beautiful shell is no more.


There is a tear

a That streaming o'er an object loved and lost, With mournful magic tortures and delights.


God of the earth's extended plains,

The dark green fields contented lie;
The mountains rise like holy towers,

Where man might commune with the sky.
The tall cliff challenges the storm

That lowers upon the vale below,
Where shaded fountains send their streams

With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heavy deep!

The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm

Hath summoned up their thundering bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam,

Or hurry trembling o'er the seas, Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale

Serenely breathes, Depart in peace.' God of the forests' solemn shade!

The grandeur of the lonely tree, That wrestles singly with the gale,

Lifts up admiring eyes to thee; But more majestic far they stand,

When side by side their ranks they form, To weave on high their plumes of green,

And fight their battles with the storm. God of the light and viewless air,

Where summer breezes sweetly flow,

Or, gathering in their angry might,

The fierce and wintry tempests blow! All—from the evening's plaintive sigh,

That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry

Breathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky!

How gloriously above us springs The tented dome of heavenly blue,

Suspended on the rainbow's rings, Each brilliant star that sparkles through,

Each gilded cloud that wanders free In evening's purple radiance, gives

The beauty of its praise to thee. God of the rolling orbs above!

Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze,

Or evening's golden shower of light. For every

fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven,

Were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! The hour must come,

And nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay,

Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes

Have made man's warmest praises flow; For hearts grow holier as they trace

The beauty of the world below.

THE TOY OF THE GIANT'S CHILD. An Old Irgruù uersifird by 0. R. B. Prince Albert. It is the lofty Inselsberg-a mountain high and

strong, Where once the noble castle stood—the giants

held it long; Its very ruins now are lost, its site is waste

and lone; And if ye look for giants there, they all are

dead and gone.

The giant's daughter once came forth, the castle

gate before, And played with all a child's delight before

her father's door; Then sauntering down the precipice the girl

would gladly go, To see perchance how matters went, in the

little world below.

With few and hasty steps she passed the moun

tain and the wood, At length approaching near the place where

dwelt mankind, she stood; And many a town and village fair, and many a

field so green, Before her wondering eyes appeared, a strange

and curious scene.

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