Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed;
I had myself a wound concealed, —
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him ne condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked, if I for him would die;
The flesh was weak,- my blood ran chill,-
But the free spirit cried, "I will."
Then in a moment to my view
The stranger darted from disguise,-
The tokens in his hands I knew.-
My Saviour stood before mine ever!
He spake; and my poor name he ramed:
"Of me thou hast not been ashamed:
These deeds shall thy memorial be:
Fear not, thou didst them unto me."
THERE's nought which can the mind allay, When threatening storms portentous all, Or can the mighty current stay,
Which sweeps its waters o'er the sor
Like Hope, sweet messenger of love,`
Which doth our deepest feelings move.
When melancholy comes like night,
And casts its shadows o'er the mind
When grief advances like a blight,
And sadness follows on behind;
Ah! then it is that Hope shines bright,
And paints the future for our sight.
When friends desert, and kind ones chide
And all bespeak of coming woe, When envy pours its darkest tide,
The purity of heart to flow;
Oh! then comes Hope, a beaming star,
Whose kindly rays shine from afar!
When the proud youth by poverty
Is bowed in spirit down to earth,
What is it bids his pinions try
And 'scape the overwhelming dearth,
But Hope, which, like a fancied dream,
Pours o'er his soul her silvery stream.
When all that Hope has painted bright,
Her fancied wealth, and promised faine, –
Do disappoint our ardent sight,
And quench ambition's burning flame
E'en then she shows her deepest power,
And bears us through the trying hour.
When Death her seal stamps on the brow,
And all the soul has sought to win
O'erwhelm the mind in anguish now,
And all is bitterness within,
Oh, then comes Hope, and points him where
His home shall be surpassing fair.
THE Songs of freedom long have realed
Above our hills and plains,
And nature loves to sympathize,
And echo back their strains.
Man ne'er was made to waste bene th
A cruel despot's sway,
To shrink with terror at his word,
And his false laws obey.
Ye nations, that in bondage writhe,
Assert the bold decree,
That liberty was made for all,
And ye will now be free'
The boon ye well may crave,
And may our western breezes bear
Its influence o'er the wave,
Till Europe's sons shall proudly rise,
And crush the tyrant's power,
And dissipate the threatening clouds,
That now above her lower!
And let their song of triumph be,
Long live fair Freedom's cause!
Long live the power that deigned to crush
The despot's unjust laws!
Then man shall learn to know mankind,
And knowledge shall increase,
And nations prize the precious gifts
Of liberty and peace.
EXERCISE LXVIII.
THE ORPHAN'S SONG.
OH! lady, buy these budding flowers,
For I am sad, and wet, and weary.
I gathered them ere break of day,
When all was lonely, still, and dreary:
And long I've sought to sell them here,
To purchase clothes, and food, and dwelling
For Valor's wretched orphan girls-
Poor me, and my young sister Ellen!
Ah! those who tread life's thornless way,
In fortune's golden sunshine basking,
May deem my wants require no aid,
Because my lips are mute, unasking;
They have no heart for woes like mine;
Each word, each look, is cold-repelling;
Yet once a crowd of flatterers fawned,
And fortune smiled on me and Ellen!
Oh! buy my flowers; they 're fair and fresh
As mine and morning's tears could keep them!
To-morrow's sun shall see them dead,
And I shall scarcely live to weep them!
Yet this sweet bud, if nursed with care,
Soon into fulness would be swelling;
And, nurtured by some generous hand,
So might my little sister Ellen!
She 's sleeping in the hollow tree,
Her only home-its leaves her bedding; And I've no food to carry there,
To soothe the tears which she 'll be shedding.
Oh! that those mourners' tears which fall,
That bell, which heavily is knelling,
And that deep grave, were meant for me,
And my poor little sister Ellen!
When we in silence are laid down
In life's last fearless, blessed sleeping,
No tears will fall upon our grave,
Save those of pitying Heaven's own weeping.
Unknown we've lived, unknown must die;
No tongue the mournful tale be telling
Of two young, broken-hearted girls —
Poor Mary and her sister Ellen!
No one has bought of me to-day,
And night is now the town o'ershading;
And I, like these poor drooping flowers,
Unnoticed and unwept, am fading;
My soul is struggling to be free-
It loathes its wretched earthly dwelling!
My limbs refuse to bear their load-
Oh God, protect lone orphan Ellen!
TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO.
WAKE your harp's music! — louder, — higher,
And pour your strains along;
And smite again each quivering wire
In all the pride of song!
Shout like those godlike men of cld,.
Who, daring storm and foe,
On this blessed soil their anthem rolled,
Two hundred years ago!
From native shores by tempests driven,
They sought a purer sky,
And found, beneath a milder heaven,
The home of liberty!
An altar rose,-and prayers,
Broke on their night of woe,
The harbinger of Freedom's day,
Two hundred years ago!
They clung around that symbol too,
Their refuge and their all;
And swore, while skies and waves were blue That altar should not fall!
They stood upon the red man's sod, 'Neath heaven's unpillared bow,
a country, and a God,~
Two hundred years ago!
Oh! 't was a hard, unyielding fate
That drove them to the seas,
And Persecution strove with Hate,
To darken her decrees:
But safe, above each coral grave,
Each blooming ship did go,-
A God was on the western wave,
Two hundred years ago!
They knelt them on the desert sand.
By waters cold and rude,
Alone upon the dreary strand
Of oceaned solitude!
They looked upon the high blue air,
And felt their spirits glow,
Resolved to live or perish there, -
Two hundred years ago!
The warrior's red right arm was bared,
His eyes flashed deep and wild :
Was there a foreign footstep dared
To seek his home and child?
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