And either had rejoic'd to see
The other's likeness in my face, But now it is a stranger's eye,
That finds some long forgotten trace.
I heard them name my father's death,
His home and tomb alike the wave;
And I was early taught to weep,
Beside my youthful mother's grave.
I wish I could recall one look,-
But only one familiar tone;
If I had aught of memory,
I should not feel so all alone.
My heart is gone beyond the grave,
In search of love I cannot find,
Till I could fancy soothing words
Are whisper'd by the ev'ning wind:
I gaze upon the watching stars,
So clear, so beautiful above,
Till I could dream they look on me
With something of an answering love.
My mother, does thy gentle eye,
Look from those distant stars on me?
Or does the wind at ev'ning bear
A message to thy child from thee?
Dost thou pine for me, as I pine
Again a parent's love to share?
I often kneel beside thy grave,
And pray to be a sleeper there.
The vesper bell!--'tis eventide,
I will not weep, but I will pray:
God of the fatherless, 'tis Thou
Alone canst be the orphan's stay!
Earth's meanest flower, heaven's mightiest star,
Are equal to their Maker's love:
And I can say, "Thy will be done,"
With eyes that fix their hopes above.
THE PILGRIM.
VAIN folly of another age,
This wandering over earth,
To find the peace by some dark sin,
Banish'd our household hearth.
On Lebanon the dark green pines
Wave over sacred ground,
And Carmel's consecrated rose
Springs from a hallow'd mound.
Glorious the truth they testify,
And blessed is their name;
But even in such a sacred spot,
Are sin and woe the same.
O pilgrim! vain each toilsome step,
Vain every weary day;
There is no charm in soil or shrine,
To wash thy guilt away.
Return, with prayer and tear, return
To those who weep at home;
To dry their tears will more avail,
Than o'er a world to roam,
There's hope for one who leaves with shame,
The guilt that lur'd before:
Remember, He, who said "repent,"
Said also, "sin no more."
Return, and in thy daily round
Of duty and of love,
Thou best wilt find that patient faith,
Which lifts the soul above.
In every innocent prayer, each child
Lisps at his father's knee:-
If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.
There is a small white church, that stands Beside thy father's grave,
There kneel and pour those earnest prayers, That sanctify and save.
Around thee draw thine own home ties,
And with a chasten'd mind,
In meek well-doing seek that peace,
No wandering will find.
In charity and penitence,
Thy sin will be forgiven:
Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine,
Whence prayers ascend to heaven.
DEVOTION.-A VISION.
METHOUGHT I roved on shining walks,
'Mid odorous groves and wreathed bowers, Where, trembling on their tender stalks, Fresh opening bloom'd the early flowers; Thick hung the fruit on ev'ry bough,
In ripe profusion clust'ring mellow, While o'er the peak'd horizon's brow, The evening ray fell slant and yellow.
Slow pacing through the fragrant shade,
With calm majestic mien advancing,
O'eraw'd I saw a queenly maid,
With piercing eyes divinely glancing;
Deep wonder chain'd my rev'rent tongue,
My frame was bent with greeting lowly,
While silence o'er the garden hung,
As if the ground she trod was holy.
"And who art thou," with eager tone,
I cried aloud, "whose presence thrilling,
Though lately seen, and yet unknown,
Can reach the inmost springs of feeling?
And oh what sweet secluded scene,
Here shines in rural beauty splendid;
Where summer bloom and vernal green
With ripe autumnal wealth are blended!"
With smiles that broke as sunshine bright,
Their lustre to my soul imparting,
And tones that sent a pure delight,
Delicious through my bosom darting;
"Devotion is my name," she said,
"And thine are those delicious bowers, From purest fountains ever fed,
And bright with undecaying flowers.
"In this sweet haunt, thy blissful life
Shall glide, like meadow-streamlet flowing,
Unreach'd by sounds of demon strife,
Unknown to passion and unknowing;
For thee the fragrant airs shall rise,
For thee shall bloom those opening roses;
Till far beyond yon trembling skies,
Thy heart in endless peace reposes.
"Yes-thine shall be this calm retreat,
Of summer bloom and peaceful beauty;
If thou observe with prudence meet,
And watchful care, one easy duty:
'Tis but to tend yon golden lamp,
With faithful hand and spirit heeding,
From wasting airs and vapours damp,
Its pointed flame attentive feeding.
"While heav'nward thus attending bright,
In holy lustre still increasing;
Thou keep'st that pure unearthly light,
With vestal heed and care unceasing;
Sweet peace of heart shall haunt thy bow'r,
And safety watch unceasing near thee;
And happy in thy parting hour,
Celestial truth shall stoop to cheer thee.
"But if the faithless thirst of change,
Or slow consuming sloth should move thee, Then dread those countless foes that range, Terrific in the air above thee.
They cannot pierce this radiant sphere,
While faithful hands that flame shall cherish,
But woe to thee, if slumb'ring here,
Thou leave its saving light to perish."
Upward I look'd, with shuddering awe,
And in the growing gloom that bound us,
Full many a dismal shape I saw,
Slow winging in the air around us:
Grim-visaged Death, and fierce Despair,
Hard Unbelief, with aspect sneering;
And Ruin, with affrighted stare,
Disastrous through the mist appearing.
Heart-stricken at the direful sight,
Awhile I stood appall'd in spirit,
But cheer'd by that celestial light,
I took my lonely station near it :
Dissolving on the fragrant air,
No more I saw that form before me,
But by the sweetness breathing there,
I felt her influence still was o'er me.
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