He who owned the large estate Where they lived, had sunk of late Into greatest poverty.

Lost he all his wide domain, Dragged to jail because of debt.

He would not of fate complain, If that widow might remain, But consent he could not get.

He who took their kind friend's place Acted a most cruel part.

All might see upon his face There was not a single trace Of a kind or gentle heart.

And the widow was forbid To remain another week.

Sternly he her pleadings chid, "All such tenants he would rid, And fresh quarters make them seek."

Threatened if they would not go He then all would take away.

This was such a heavy blow Sickness laid the mother low; The were thus obliged to stay.

Ere the time had quite expired Down the angry landlord came With a man whom he had hired; Liquor strong their courage fired Till they felt no sense of shame.

Seize they Jenny's pretty pet, Cut its throat and leave it there; Then the household goods they get-- Heed not how the dear ones fret When their cot was made so bare.

Saw the Lord that wicked deed?

Did the widow's prayer avail?

See you further on may read, What the Lord had just decreed In the sequel of my tale.

Thunder clouds hung overhead, While those shocking acts were done; Forth the lightning's arrow sped, Guided there it struck them dead, Ceased to beat their hearts of stone.

All who heard the widow's case, Those who saw sweet Jenny's tears, Got for them a better place, Bade them wear a cheerful face, Trust in G.o.d and calm their fears.

Said the widow to her Jane, "Saw you how your darling died?

Did it of the act complain?

Jesus as a Lamb was slain, As a Lamb was crucified.

"This was in the sinner's stead, This was done for you and me; For our sins he freely bled, Bowed to Death his sacred head On the shameful cursed tree."

Heard that lovely girl these things?

Yes, and did believe them too.

Faith its blessings to her brings, And G.o.d's goodness oft she sings.

This, dear reader, you may do.

TO A VERY TALL SUNFLOWER.

Gigantic flower with many golden faces, Why climbest thou so very high in air?

Art loth to show the very smallest traces Of sweet Humility with aspect fair?

Well, even 'mongst men they are by far too rare!

I oft have heard how thou in deep devotion Dost follow Sol, the glorious king of Day.

If this be true, perhaps thou seek'st promotion To his high courts, thy splendors to display, And dazzle all who view thy bright array.

Poets we know are strangely given to dreaming, And thus it came--they all thought this of thee.

'Tis true, sometimes thy yellow flowers do seem in Just such a mood, and this they chanced to see; But those who watch thee closely will agree

That yet these flowers at times face all the quarters, East, West, and North as well as sunny South, And I have seen them like most patient martyrs Hang thus for days in time of Summer's drouth, Although such weather did not stop their growth.

Thou tallest of the tall amongst thy fellows Look'st like a king. So full of majesty Art thou, that this alone the truth may tell us Why we no humble mien in thee can see.

Thou only bow'st to G.o.d who fashioned thee.

If this be so thou art a lesson teaching To all who view thy many golden charms; And all this time a sermon hast been preaching To me, and now my heart toward thee warms; Till I would gladly save thee from Frost's harms.

This may not be; already thou art drooping: A few more days will strip thy splendors off, And when Frost comes to find thy tall form stooping He at thy nakedness perhaps may scoff, But heed not, 'twas not his thy charms to doff.

Sunflower, I leave thee now, and this truth ponder, Thou hast fulfilled the task allotted thee.

Have _I_ discharged the obligations under Which I lay to G.o.d? the world? Ah me!

A host of imperfections I can see.

Then let me now, before I cease my rhyming Take thy strong lesson very much to heart, That while I am up Life's rough ladder climbing I still may seek to act a proper part, And strive to fearless meet Death with his dart.

BIRTHDAY THOUGHTS AND ASPIRATIONS.

WRITTEN ON MY THIRTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, MARCH 20, 1854.

What solemn thoughts crowd o'er my mind As this eventful day moves on.

I feel most forcibly inclined To strive some proper words to find, In praise of G.o.d for what he's done.

And why? For seven and thirty years: He who at first my being gave Has still upheld me, calmed my fears, While pa.s.sing through this Vale of Tears, And on my journey to the grave.

'Tis then but right that I should take A retrospect of my past days.

This done in faithfulness will make My humble lyre aloud to wake Its every string in G.o.d's pure praise.

Then let my memory recall Each striking scene through which I've pa.s.sed.

What strong emotion fills my soul, As they in quick succession roll Before my wondering gaze at last!

I feel my childhood's joys once more, Again I pa.s.s its sorrows through.

Of richest mercies what a store, In health or else in sickness sore, As if by magic spring to view.

With all my sins upon my head I see two near escapes from death; Then is a feast before me spread, And I on heavenly food am fed, The precious gift of G.o.d through faith.

Lo, there I see Him guard me round, Lest strong temptations me o'ercome; Here I am in his favor found, While others in perdition drowned Were long since hurried to the tomb!

O, what a miracle is this, That I am saved from h.e.l.l and sin!

Predestined by pure Grace to Bliss, My soul in transport bows submiss To G.o.d, and hopes a crown to win.

Then may I mourn my past neglect Of all thy goodness, O, my G.o.d!

Henceforward may I more respect Thy just commands and still detect Those lurking sins that bring thy rod.