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"So he crept to his poor garret,
Poor no more, but rich and bright; For the holy dreams of childhood
Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light— Floated round the Orphan's pillow
Through the starry summer night.
"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;
Did he dream that none spake harshly-
Must have charmed all ills away.
"And he smiled, though they were fading;
"Know, dear little one! our Father
Lives divine in Heaven again,
While the angel hearts that beat there Still all tender thoughts retain."
So the angel ceased, and gently
Thus the radiant angel answered,
In the churchyard of that city
Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,
And a humble grave beside it—
No one knew who rested there.
TILL the angel stars are shining,
Still the wood is dim and lonely,
Hark! the mournful echoes say,
Still the bird of night complaineth, (Now, indeed, her song is pain,)
Visions of my happy hours,
Do I call and call in vain?
Hark! the echoes cry again,
Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes!
Days of old, a long farewell!
A FALSE GENIUS.
SEE a Spirit by thy side,
Though he seem so bright and fair,
If he bid thee dwell apart,
In a sick and coward heart;
In self-worship wrapped alone, Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown More than other men have known;
Dwelling in some cloudy sphere, Though God's work is waiting here, And God deigneth to be near;
If his torch's crimson glare
Show thee evil everywhere,
Tainting all the wholesome air;
While with strange distorted choice,
Still disdaining to rejoice,
Thou wilt hear a wailing voice;
If a simple, humble heart,
Seem to thee a meaner part,
Than thy noblest aim and art;
If he bid thee bow before
Crowned Mind and nothing more,