And since that well remembered day,
Whatever doth betide;
Joe ne'er by wrong, is led astray,
But "looks at t'other side!"
When scandal takes its busy round,
With huge, and sweeping stride;
Joe heeds it not:—with thought profound,
He looks at t'other side!"
When fools, arrayed in fortune's smile,
Are puffed with haughty pride;
Joe envies first,—then thinks awhile,
And "looks at t'other side!"
When urged in DISSIPATION's maze,
Corroding griefs to hide;
Joe views the bowl with loathing gaze,
And "looks at t'other side!"
When sad distress and care are nigh,
And faithless friends deride;
With humble hope, and tearful eye,
Joe "looks at t'other side!"
And when, life's raging tempest past,
No more he stems the tide;
With joy on YONDER SHORES, at last,
He'll view" the other side!"
O'er wide Hindostan's sultry plain,
The raging tiger seeks his food;
In jungle-depths the savage foe
Waits the accustomed hour of blood;
Alike his views, alike his aim,
There, too, degraded man appears,
Of bigotry the abject slave,
The child of ignorance and fears.
Reckless of soul, to him unknown
The UNCREATE who spans the sky;
The power that fills a burning throne,
The God who hears the contrite cry;
He kneels, but 'tis at Moloch's shrine;
He prays,-unhallowed is the prayer;
The altar owns his midnight sigh,
'Tis superstition drives him there.
He offers; and the crimsoned car
Smokes with the sacrifice unblest;
Curst expirations bathed in crime,
With rites unholy, stand confest;
No tear is his for sin forgiven,-
The wave that washed Immanuel's feet—
For him there shines no ray of heaven,
The cloud yet veils his mercy-seat.
Christian, for him the ethereal bow,
Glowed the bright promise on the cloud;
Christian, for him the star arose,
Herald of mercy from a God;
Go then, to the poor Hindoo race
The Godhead's wondrous plan disclose;
Go, tell the wretch, of pard'ning grace,
Tell him that Jesus died and rose.
ON VIEWING THE GRAVE OF FRANKLIN.
No lofty cenotaph his worth attests;
No gilded tomb proclaims where FRANKLIN rests:
An humble stone, half hidden, meets the eye,
And marks his couch whose fame can never die.
The traveller here, by admiration led,
Thus sighs his tribute to the mighty dead:
"Franklin the loved, here rests in mother earth,
Great by true merit, though of lowly birth;
His mind a maxim, plain, yet keenly shrewd,
A heart with large benevolence endued;
Now scanning cause with philosophic aim,
And now arresting the ethereal flame;
Great as a statesman, as a patriot true,
Courteous in manners, yet exalted too;
A stern republican,-by kings caressed,
Modest, by nations is his memory blessed.
Wanderer! such genius to an age is given,
To prove our race the offspring of yon heaven.
Filial Devotion,—dear the tie,
That binds the parent to the child;
'Tis from affection's rich supply,
The streams of bliss flow undefiled.
What youthful mind loves not to dwell
On deeds which care parental prove?
What child whose bosom doth not swell
With gratitude and Filial Love?
If such there be-from haunts of
Quick, let the guilty wretch withdraw, Fitter to guard the scorpion's den,
Or wait the cruel tyger's law.
How tender are the hourly cares,
That with the mother's love entwine;
How holy are the frequent prayers
The father pours at midnight's shrine.
Filial devotion! Gratitude!
Emotions to the bosom dear;
I would not on that heart intrude,
Which never gave to you the tear,
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