SABBATH SONNET. Mrs. Bemans. COMPOSED FEW DAYS BEFORE HER DEATH, AND DEDICATED TO HER BROTHER.] Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallow'd day! The Halls, from old heroic ages grey, Pour their fair children forth; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Of sickness bound. Yet, oh, my God! I bless To one deep calm, of lowliest thankfulness. ECHO. Milton. SWEET Echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen By slow Meander's margent green, Where the love-lorn nightingale Oh! if thou have Hid them in some flow'ry cave, Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere, LIFE. BETWEEN two worlds, life hovers like a star, 'Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge. How little do we know that which we are, How less what we may be; the eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Lashed from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave, but like some passing waves. KINDRED CONNECTION. W. . R. KINDRED Connection !-chain around our hearts To bear the sterling stamp they sever'd bore, Then-here though mixed with earth it could but break, Death will but fine th' imperishable ore, no more. THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS. Spencer. How oft do they their silver bowers leave, WOMAN. Byron. THE very first life must spring from woman's Of human breast, Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them. THE END OF LIFE. Mrs. Fry. WHAT though the moments fly, Sweet shall thy portion be Though sorrow count the hours, Let not thy spirit faint, Smile when the moments fly, HOPE. Byron. WHITE as a white sail on a dusky sea, Though every wave she rides divides us more, |