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Even to those dim hours when at her breast,
A fragile babe, my mother nourish'd me,

And guarded with a tender parent's care
The wretch whose wilful course, her doting heart
Hath caus'd to bleed with grief at every pore.

How many days, and weary, wakeful nights,
When sickness brooded o'er my infant frame,
Did that fond mother watch beside my couch,
Soothing my peevish temper with her voice,
Or lulling me in love's embrace to sleep.
Ah! little thought she then, that, adder-like,
The boy she lov'd so fondly would repay
The untiring care with which she cherish'd him,
Stinging her to her very heart of hearts.
Nay, look'd she forward with a mother's hope
To after years, when the enervate babe

Upon her knee, a stalwart man should grow,
And on life's troubled ocean launch his barque.

*

And he, the guardian of my youth, whose locks Are whiten'd with the frosts of three-score years,Who rear'd me nobly, placed me where the sun Of science shed abroad its radiant light,

Bade to worship honor, and t' avoid

The snares that vice had thrown around the world,

And fitted me to shine amid the throng
Where intellectual worth is deem'd a gem,—
How have his hopes been blasted by the wretch
Who dares no longer call him father, friend!

Come, sweet religion! bland-eyed goddess, come! Cheer this sad bosom with thy loveliest smiles; Inspire me with love, with strength divine, That with thee I may tread that narrow road Which leads to endless joy in realms above. Pour out upon this all-polluted heart The purifying streams of grace, and cleanse Its inmost recess from the filth of sin.

Father of mercies! Thou Almighty one, Who know'st my ev'ry thought, and word, and deed,

Turn thou an eye of favor on the worm

That writhes in pain beneath thy fearful frown,
O, crush him not! nor cast him off for ever,
Though all too base to merit thy regard;
But, for the sake of thy dear Son, vouchsafe
To save him from the woes of lasting death,
And make him meet thy holiness to share,

Beyond the grave, that heritage of bliss
Reserved for those who do thy holy will.
Let the affliction he is suffering now,
In thy good time be to him sanctified;
And if it be thy holy will that, once again,
In freedom he shall mingle with the world,
Oh, may the sense of thy amazing love
To one so undeserving, stir him up

To live to Thee alone, and nought to know
Beyond his Saviour, and him crucified.

Grant, thou Omniscient, grant my humble prayer;
Be merciful to me, thy sadly erring child,
And to thy name be all the praise. Amen.

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(55)

PART II.

DISTINGUISHED PRISONERS,

POEMS BY WM LLOYD GARRSION. (6)

FREEDOM OF THE MIND.

HIGH walls and huge the BODY may confine,
And iron grates obstruct the prisoner's gaze,
And massive bolts may baffle his design,

And vigilant keepers watch his devious ways: Yet scorns th' immortal MIND this base control ! No chains can bind it, and no cell enclose: Swifter than light, it flies from pole to pole,

And, in a flash, from earth to heaven it goes! It leaps from mount to mount-from vale to vale It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits and flowers; It visits home, to hear the fireside tale,

Or in sweet converse pass the joyous hours. "T is up before the sun, roaming afar,

And, in its watches, wearies every star!

PERSECUTION.

O PERSECUTION! Fearful as thou art,
With scowliing brow, and aspect stern and rude,
Thy hands in blood of Innocence imbrued,
Wrung, drop by drop, from many a tortured
heart,-

Why should we dread thy gibbet, axe, or stake?

Thou dost our faith, our hope, our courage try, And mak'st us valiant where we thought to fly: Through thee, the crown of Victory we take. Thy fires but purify our gold from dross;

Once undiscerned, our value now appears, Which shall, at interest, increase with years; So do we gain by thee, nor suffer loss:— "T were base to sacrifice the TRUTH, to save Our names from foul reproach-our bodies from the

grave.

TRUE COURAGE.

I BOAST no courage on the battle-field,
Where hostile troops immix in horrid fray;
For Love or Fame I can no weapon wield,
With burning lust an enemy to slay:

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