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I looked out on the pleasant earth
Up to the glorious skies,

And felt the beauty and the worth
Of life's strong sympathies.

I had these pleasures all the while My heart refused to rest;

But now to me they wear his smile, And therefore they are blest.

The voice is silent still that made
Music unto mine ear;

Yet something in the shadowy glade
Like to its tones I hear.

I know that still beneath the tree
Lies that unyielding sod;
But feel his spirit is with me,

With nature, and with God!

GERTRUDE OF WYOMING.

CAMPBELL,

[EXTRACT.]

THE rose of England bloom'd on Gertrude's' cheek--What though these shades had seen her birth, her sire

A Briton's independence taught to seek

Far western worlds; and there his household fire
The light of social love did long inspire,

And many a halcyon day he lived to see
Unbroken, but by one misfortune dire,

When fate had reft his mutual heart-but she

Was gone-and Gertrude climb'd a widow'd father's knee.

A loved bequest,-and I may half impart
To them that feel the strong paternal tie,
How like a new existence to his heart
That living flower uprose beneath his eye,
Dear as she was from cherub infancy,

From hours when she would round his garden play, To time when as the ripening years went by,

Her lovely mind could culture well repay,

And more engaging grew, from pleasing day to day.

I may not paint those thousand infant charms;
(Unconscious fascination, undesigned !)
The orison repeated in his arms,

For God to bless her sire, and all mankind;
The book, the bosom on his knee reclined,
Or how sweet fairy-lore he heard her con,
(The playmate ere the teacher of her mind):
All uncompanion'd else her years had gone,

Till now in Gertrude's eyes their ninth blue summer shone.

STANZA S.

H. MALDON.

THERE is a home-felt stillness in the hour
When heaven's bright azure takes a deeper shade,
And fragrance sleeps in every closing flower;
Then, ere the amber glow is all decayed,

The volume or the work aside is laid,

And the pleased mother views, with glistening eye, The little games by happy childhood played, Her fair-haired girls all breathless running by, With cries of mimic fear and laugh of ecstasy.

When the far clock hath toll'd the hour of rest
They, side by side, before their mother kneel,
And pray their gentle slumbers may be blest,
And their pure spirits dewlike influence feel
Of grace and goodness.-Oh! what raptures steal
Upon a parent's soul at childhood's prayer!
That innocence might all her sorrows heal:
The lifted hands, the features' placid air,

The hymn so sweetly lisp'd, have all enchantment there.

And then the goodnight kiss; and they repose
In dreamless rest, or dreams of happiness;
And the warm cheek with liveliest colours glows
As, half unconsciously, with fond caress,

The wearied infants to each other press,
And fall asleep together. Happy sleep!

The sage might envy thee, the saint might bless:
O! couldst thou in thy own true Lethe steep

The sunk and haggard eyes that wake, and wake to weep!

Trinity College, Cambridge.

LITTLE CHILDREN BROUGHT TO JESUS.

GRAHAME.

Suffer that little children come to me ;
Forbid them not. Emboldened by his words,

The mothers onward press; but finding vain
Th' attempt to reach the Lord, they thrust their babes
To strangers' hands; the innocents alarmed
Amid the throng of faces all unknown,

Shrink, trembling, till their wandering eyes discern
The countenance of Jesus, beaming love

And pity; eager then they stretch their arms,

And, cowering, lay their heads upon his breast.

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