Still less, in spite of worldling's smile, So chequered is our life with ill,— Her visits, "few and far between But oh when Love, or Grief, or Fear, To the bruised heart that not a tear Allays its suffering— When nought can sooth the bosom's woe, HER voice can bid the fountain flow Of tears, which Grief repressed doth keep To break the heart which cannot weep. For me, who, through life's varied scene, Have known the common lot,— Whose Sun of Joy hath never been Unshaded by a spot, Verse sooths my soul,-and even now She binds a wreath on Suffering's brow; While Learning nerves the wing of Faith Away, away, all worldly gain, I will not join your gilded train, Of Learning, and with her I'll dwell; * Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt. Matt. vi. 19. VIII. THE BIRTHDAY. THINE eye, my Child, beams bright with mirth, Though Sorrow sigh around thee; Thou art so fair a flower of earth That Grief would weep to wound thee: Thy little heart is big with joy; Thy years now number seven; Thy dream of bliss who would destroy? The brightest joy will fade on earth, The sighs, that breathe around thee, Ere long, will mar thy vernal mirth, Ere thrice thou number'st seven, May swell with woe, and truth destroy Alas, alas! that such should be What eye can help foreseeing? We think not of to-morrow; But morrows come in clouds and tears To tell our lot is sorrow. The tears that fill fair Childhood's eye, They but reflect the brilliancy That early age adorning: But tears down Manhood's cheek that flow, Are like the silent billow, Which mutely woos the winds to blow Yes, such is this fair earth, my child, At noon dark clouds are swelling The evening shades obscure the light The wings of darkness hover, And, stooping, whelm the world in night Then death-and all is over! Yet droop not-for a fairer world What though to seeming darkness hurl'd |