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Then, thou in heaven and I on earth,
May this one hope delight us,
That thou wilt hail my second birth,
When death shall re-unite us,

Where worlds no more can sever

Parent and child for ever.

THE

WIDOW AND THE FATHERLESS.

Well, thou art gone, and I am left:
But oh ! how cold and dark to me
This world, of every charm bereft,
Where all was beautiful with thee !

Though I have seen thy form depart
For ever from

my
widow'd

eye,
I hold thee in mine inmost heart;
There, there at least, thou canst not die.

Farewell on earth ; Heaven claim'd its own ;
Yet, when from me thy presence went,
I was exchanged for God alone :
Let dust and ashes learn content.

K

Ha! those small voices silver-sweet!
Fresh from the fields

my babes appear ; They fill my arms, they clasp my feet;

« Oh! could your father see us here !"

THE DAISY IN INDIA.

Supposed to be addressed by the Reverend Dr. Carey, the

learned and illustrious Baptist Missionary at Serampore, to the first plant of this kind, which sprang up unexpectedly in his garden, out of some English earth, in which other seeds had been conveyed to him from this country. With great care and nursing, the Doctor has been enabled to perpetuate the Daisy in India, as an annual only, raised by seed preserved from season to season.

Thrice welcome, little English flower!
My mother-country's white and red,
In rose or lily, till this hour,
Never to me such beauty spread:
Transplanted from thine island-bed,
A treasure in a grain of earth,
Strange as a spirit from the dead,
Thine embryo sprang to birth.

Thrice welcome, little English flower!
Whose tribes, beneath our natal skies,
Shut close their leaves while vapours lower ;
But, when the sun's

gay

beams arise,
With unabash'd but modest eyes,
Follow his motion to the west,
Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies,
Then fold themselves to rest.

Thrice welcome, little English flower,
To this resplendent hemisphere,
Where Flora's giant offspring tower
In
gorgeous

liveries all the year ;
Thou, only thou, art little here,
Like worth unfriended and unknown,
Yet to my British heart more dear
Than all the torrid zone.

Thrice welcome, little English flower!
Of early scenes beloved by me,

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