MARGARET'S REMEMBRANCE OF LIGHTFOOT.

My beautiful steed, 'Tis painful indeed To think we are parted forever; That on no sunny day, With light spirits and gay, Over hills far away, We shall joyously travel together.

Thy soft glossy mane I shall ne'er see again, Nor thy proudly arched neck 'gain behold; Nor admire _that_ in thee, Which so seldom we see, A kind, gentle spirit, yet bold.

Thou wert pleasant indeed My darling grey steed, "In my mind's eye" thou'rt beautiful still; For when thou wert old Thy heart grew not cold, Its warm current time never could chill.

Not a stone marks the spot Where they laid thee, Lightfoot, And no fence to enclose thee around; But what if there's not, _Deep engraved on my heart_ Thy loved image may ever be found.

"THE CLOUDS RETURN AFTER THE RAIN."

Dark and yet darker my day's clouded o'er; Are its bright joys all fled, and its sunshine no more?

I look to the skies for the bright bow in vain, For constantly "clouds return after the rain."

Must it always be thus, peace banished forever, And joy to this sad heart returned again never?

I long for the rest that I cannot obtain, For the clouds, so much dreaded, return after rain.

Is there not in this wide world one spot that is blessed With exemption from suffering, where one may find rest; Where sickness and sorrow no entranpe can gain, And the clouds do not return after the rain?

Ah! deceive not thyself by a vain hope like this, Nor expect in this world to enjoy lasting peace: But bow with submission to G.o.d's holy will, For the hand that afflicts is thy kind Father's still.

If my days are dark here, there are brighter above, In those pure realms of light, peace, joy, and of love; Where the air is all balm, and the skies ever fair, And the river of life, clear as crystal flows there.

There also, for healing the nations, are found The leaves of the tree on which rich fruits abound; There is no need of candle, for G.o.d is their light, There never is darkness, for "_there_ is no night."

Oh! may I there find, when this brief life is past, By my Saviour prepared, a sweet home at last; Where sin never enters, death, sorrow, nor care, And clouds are not feared, for it never rains there.

August 19, 1852.

THE NOCTURNAL VISIT.

Lo the curtains of night around Palestine fall, And Jerusalem's streets into darkness are thrown; The late-busy hum of men's voices is hushed, And the city is clad in dark livery alone.

But see through the dimness that half opened door, And slowly emerging a figure behold; A quick, furtive glance he has thrown all around, For what is he thirsting, for blood, or for gold?

Stealthily, fearfully, onward he moves, So light are his footsteps you scarce hear their tread; Yet no midnight robber, no murderer is he, Then why dread recognition--of man why afraid?

Let us follow his footsteps and learn where he goes; And now at the door of a house see him stand; But why wait so long ere admittance he seeks, In attempting to knock, why trembles that hand?

He has come to the fountain of light and of life, Before whom ne'er suppliant sued humbly in vain; He has come for the knowledge that alone maketh rich, And without which we're poor, though the whole world we gain.

He has come to learn wisdom of that lowly one, Who spake as "never man spake" it was said; And who, though so poor and despised among men, Is the whole world's Sustainer, creation's great Head.

But list to the words of the Saviour of men, "Verily, verily I say unto thee, That no man, except he be born again, Is permitted the kingdom of heaven to see."

How humbling to pride were these words of our Lord, What fears in his guest they serve to awaken; Though a ruler of Jews, he was yet in his sins; The first step towards heaven he never had taken.

Ah! Nicodemus, how many like thee, Would perceive all their boasted religion was vain, Could they meet but his glance who "searcheth the heart, And trieth the reins of the children of men."

Sept. 9, 1852.

SOVEREIGNTY OF G.o.d AND FREE AGENCY OF MAN.

Thou art a perfect Sovereign, oh my G.o.d!

And I rejoice to think that thou art so; That all events are under thy control, And that thou knowest all I think and do.

But some may ask, "then why am I to blame Because I sin, if G.o.d hath made me thus?"

Stop, stop, my friend, G.o.d tempteth not to sin, Thou dost it of thy own free will and choice.

Though G.o.d is Sovereign, we free agents are, Accountable to him for all we do, Feel, think, or say; and at the last great day, A most exact account must render too.

With this conclusion be thou satisfied-- _For all who will accept him, Christ hath died_.

Sept. 19, 1862.

G.o.d is a Sovereign, man free agent too; How these to reconcile I do not know: But _this_ I know, if _lost_, the blame is _mine_, If saved, the _praise_, oh G.o.d! be _only thine_.

AUTUMN AND SUNSET.

Hail, sober Autumn! thee I love, Thy healthful breeze and clear blue sky; And _more_ than flowers of Spring admire Thy falling leaves of richer dye.

'Twas even thus when life was young, I welcomed Autumn with delight; Although I knew that with it came The shorter day and lengthened night.

Let others pa.s.s October by, Or dreary call its hours, or chill; Let poets always sing of Spring, My praise shall be of Autumn still.

And I have loved the setting sun, E'en than his rising beams more dear; 'Tis fitting time for serious thought, It is an hour for solemn prayer.

Before the evening closes in, Or night's dark curtains round us fall, See how o'er tree, and spire, and hill, That setting sun illumines all.

So when my earthly race is run, When called to bid this world adieu, Like yonder cloudless...o...b..I see, May _my_ sun set in glory too.

Oct 8, 1852.