Who taught my half-formed words the way,

In feeble accents first to pray,

Who watched, my slumbers, cheered my day? My mother.

Who strove to teach my heart to glow
With gratitude; or melt at woe,
Each selfish feeling to forego?

Who taught my bosom pity's sigh,
Who dried the widow's tearful eye,
Who listened to the orphan's cry?

My mother.

My mother.

In early youth who soothed my woe,
Who pitied me when I lay low,
Who whispered mercy dealt the blow?

My mother.

Who lived in peace, and died in faith,
Who blest me with her latest breath,
Who grasped my hand, and smiled in death?

My mother.

O! shade of her I held so dear,
Thy loved remembrance still is here:
In this sad heart, thou livest there,

My mother.
Anon.

WEEP, EMMELINE, WEEP.

Weep, Emmeline, weep,

And no tongue shall reprove thee; Weep, Emmeline, weep,

For the friends that did love thee.

The flowers in the light

Of the sunshine are blooming;
But the cheeks that were bright
In the grave are consuming.

The birds on the trees
Sing as sweetly as ever;
But the lips that could please
Shall give joy to thee never.

The morning may break
O'er the valley in gladness;
But the eyes cannot wake
That dispelled all thy sadness.

The evening may come,

But its fall shall endear not;
For the steps that came home
In the dusk thou shalt hear not.

Weep, Emmeline, weep,

And no tongue

Weep, Emmeline, weep,

For the friends that did love thee.

shall reprove

THE DEAD.

thee;

WRITTEN IN A CHURCHYARD.

W. Knox.

Wild as the rocking of a bark upon a stormy sea,

Are the wanderings of the spirit, through the mists of re

verie ;

And yet there is an unity, though indistinct and dim, Like the reflected rainbow-hues on the watery skies that swim.

A veil of sadness had passed o'er, my spirit like a cloud, Or as around the lonely dead, is drawn the winding shroud;

I passed on in my mournfulness, and in the churchyard's gloom,

I sat me down to meditate upon an ancient tomb.

I looked around as if to ease my spirit's deep distress, But Nature's self appeared to join, in my sad weariness; The sun was passing to his rest, the clouds were sailing by,

And the wind had spread his wings, upon the fretwork of the sky.

His wings were shaking heavily, and sadly sighed the

trees,

You mought have thought that a spirit passed upon the fearful breeze;

For the grass bowed down upon the earth, and trembled as with fear,

And I shuddered as the rustling sounds came sweeping past my ear.

Oh it was very loneliness, yet I could not choose but stay, Though the awful thoughts that o'er me came, filled me with dark dismay;

I could not choose but look, upon the tombs so lowly laid, I could not choose but think upon the silent and the

dead!

--

Oh ye dead! Oh ye dead! ye of the visage pale,
Ye of the place of vision in Hinnom's lonely vale,
How wonderful a tale is in your prison-house concealed,
A tale we may not—cannot know, till all things are re-
Ivealed.

Ye fell away as wavelets, from the rolling sea of time, One day was heard the sounds of joy-the next your funeral chime ;

Ye fell away in the rush of years, your day of life passed o'er,

And the place that once hath known ye well, now know"eth ye no more!

Yet though ye sleep the dreamless sleep, the rustling grass doth wave,

And fall the heavy churchyard dews, like tears upon your

grave;

L