STANZAS.

TO THE AUTHOR OF "LITTLE RAGGED NED, AN ORPHAN."

1854.

Friend, I've read thy touching verses Poured from gentle, loving heart, Glad that sense of thy own mercies Gives thee-zeal to act thy part In bringing sweet, poetic art To bear upon the orphan's case, And show as by a sunbeam's trace How such as he are made to smart.

Would I had thy skill in writing; I would give thee tribute meet, Showing those too fond of slighting Th' orphan's cause, that it is sweet, Pure modest worth with love to greet, Though that worth may not appear In form bedecked in gorgeous gear, But one in tattered garb complete.

Well indeed hast thou depicted What the ragged boy endured; How his soul with grief afflicted Could alone by One be cured.

O, would that such could be allured At once to fly to Jesus' arms-- To prove how great are all his charms; And thus have peace of mind ensured.

Poor dear ragged orphan, weep not; There is one thy Friend above.

Know then that this Friend will sleep not But watch over thee in love.

He will thy foes in wrath reprove.

For this he strongly pledged his word, Which should true comfort thee afford Till death all thy sad woes remove.

Did thy mother die confiding In the Saviour's precious blood?

'Neath that covert be thou hiding, If thy soul would seek its good.

Yes, dearest child, have faith in G.o.d, Then the rich blessings he can give Will all be thine while thou dost live; As from the Word is understood.

I would join this friend and others.

Who have hearts and feelings right, To acknowledge for our brothers Such as thou; though foulest spite May be displayed in earnest quite, By those who are so fond of self That they cant spare a little pelf To make your saddened faces bright.

I SAW A YOUTHFUL MOTHER LIE

I saw a youthful mother lie Upon the bed of death.

No bitter tears bedimmed her eye Though parents, spouse, and friends were nigh, Expecting her last breath.

And when a little daughter came To see her mother dear, She did not call her child by name, But, quite composed, appeared the same As if she were not near.

I asked myself what made her act In this way to her kin?

Was her poor frame with torture racked, Or was it consciousness she lacked, Or dreadful fears within?

I well divine 'twas none of these Concerned this mother's mind.

'Tis true her cough gave her no ease, That she was sinking from disease, And was to all resigned.

O, was it the dear Saviour's call That she was listening to?

It was, and rapture filled her soul, Feeling content to leave them all, With heaven in her view.

And then, by some strong impulse led, She wished us next to sing.

We sang the praise of him who bled On Calvary in the sinner's stead, That he to us might bring

Salvation from both sin and h.e.l.l, A song she much admitted, And one on which she loved to dwell; One suited to her case so well That of true joy inspired.

And oh, methought were she but strong, She would have raised her voice To join us in that pleasing song, And let it waft her soul along To Him who was her choice.

Yet doubtless then her spirit sung, Yea joined us too in prayer; And now her golden harp is strung Which will ne'er be "on willows hung,"

In weakness or despair.

FAMILY PIECES

TO MY BELOVED WIFE, DURING AFFLICTION, 1842.

Ann, we have lived in peace for three long years.

Much pleasure we have had, some crosses too; Enough to show that in this Vale of Tears Affliction's needed still to bring us through.

Why should it not be so? Our G.o.d is good; He also wise, and better far doth know What's best for us, and if we understood Our interest well we should confess it so.

A man both wise and good did once aver-- "At th' hands of G.o.d we have received good; And shall not we, who are so p.r.o.ne to err, Receive our evil too, as best we should?"

My dearest Ann, let not your spirits down, But with me kiss the rod that G.o.d hath sent His promise is that he will not disown Those dear to him, though by sore troubles bent.

O, that the sacred influence of truth Which we profess may ever dwell within; That we may bear the yoke now in our youth, And always flee the devious paths of sin.

O, that the Holy Book which does contain The greatest charter our kind G.o.d can grant, May prove to be like precious heavenly rain To nourish, strengthen, and keep us from want.

Then, hand in hand in unity and love, In holiness we'll walk before our G.o.d, And have affections fixed on things above, Our feet with "gospel preparation shod."

And thus may we hold on Life's journey through; Nor e'er forsake pure Wisdom's sacred path.

Still as we journey always keep in view Those glorious things "the righteous nation" hath.

In sure and certain prospect, far beyond In point of worth this world and all its toys, Treasure in heaven, beside the blissful sound Of Jesus' voice, with sweetest heavenly joys.

And may our children all likewise receive The richest dews of heavenly blessing now.

O, may the Lord make each of them believe The gospel pure, and to its teachings bow.

And then indeed should we be called to part While in this world, we all shall meet above, Where we with every power and all our heart Will praise the Saviour's name and sing his love.

O, blest, blest thought! through vast Eternity In purest bliss and holiness to dwell.

There our glad eyes shall Jesus ever see, And hear the Saints his greatest wonders tell.

TO MY DAUGHTER MARY ANN, ASLEEP.

1842.

Sweetly asleep is Mary Ann, In calmest infantile repose Her lovely face no longer wan, Seems lovelier still when in a doze.