PETER WEEPING. SAMUEL M. WARING. OH! strong in purpose-frail in power, Where now the pledge so lately given? Coward-to creatures of an hour, Bold-to the challenged bolts of heaven! Shall that fierce eye e'er pour the stream But Jesus turns-mysterious drops What might it be that glance could paint? Was it that lightning thought retraced Some hallow'd hour beneath the moon, Or walk, or converse high that graced The Temple's column'd shade at noon? Say, did that face to memory's eye Still rest upon that brow Divine? I know not: but I know a will That, Lord! might frail as Peter's be! A heart that had denied Thee still, E'en now-without a look from Thee! THE OLD FLORIST. 66 FROM THOUGHTS OF THE BLIND." MRS. T. K. HERVEY. WHERE are ye, blessed flowers? Oh! never more to these dim eyes Sweet odours haunt me still; A rapture, hidden but intense, And springing from a two-fold sense, Through every pulse doth thrill : When lifts the broom its golden sheaves, I hear the rustling of the leaves, Till, like the spray the fountain weaves, Strange tears mine eyelids fill. Where shall we meet again, O chasteners of the spirit's eye? When tears are at their fountain dry, Where not as here ye drooping lie, To find their homage vain. Your beauty hath not fled! Though light from these dull orbs hath flown, The sightless pilgrim not alone His tears like dews shall shed. He hears your light leaves' breezy tone, The soul of feeling dead. There is a heavenward shore Which troubled waters never lave; There shall your beauty bloom and wave, There, yearning love shall cease to crave, And, in a world beyond the grave, Shall turn from ye to Him who gave, To worship and adore. A FEW YEARS. MISS E. M. HAMILTON. OH! a few years! how the words come Like frost across the heart! We need not weep, we need not smileFor a few years, a little while, And it will all depart : And we shall be with those who lie Yet, a few years,-is this the whole Our names, our generations gone, Our day of life and life's dream done? Ah! this were nothing: fewer still That made life pleasant once, and threw Over its stream the sunny hue That it shall scarce recall; |