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Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melts upon the air;

Thou art around us in our peaceful home,
And the world calls us forth—and thou art there!

Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest

Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.

Leaves have their time to fall,

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all-

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
MRS HEMANS, 1793-1835.


WHAT saith the Fountain,
Hid in the glade,

Where the tall mountain
Throweth its shade?

Deep in my waters, reflected serene,

All the soft beauty of heaven is seen;

Thus let thy bosom, from wild passion free,
Ever the mirror of purity be!"

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What saith the Streamlet,

Flowing so bright,

Clear as a beamlet

Of heavenly light?

Morning and evening still floating along,
Upward for ever ascendeth my song;
Be thou contented whate'er may befall,
Cheerful in knowing that God is o'er all.”


What saith the River,

Majestic in flow,

Moving for ever
Calmly and slow?

"Over my surface the great vessels glide,
Ocean-ward borne by my strong heaving tide;
Work thou too, brother, life vanisheth fast,
Labour unceasing, rest cometh at last!”

What saith the Ocean,

Boundless as night;

Tumultuous in motion,
Resistless in might?

"Fountain to streamlet, streamlet to river,
All in my bosom commingle for ever;
Morning to noontide, and noontide to night,
Soon will Eternity veil thee from sight."



Lo, the lilies of the field,
How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to Nature's lesson given
By the blessed birds of heaven!
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy:
"Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow!
God provideth for the morrow!

"Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
Than we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow!
God provideth for the morrow!

"One there lives whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives, who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall:
Pass we blithely, then, the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow-
God provideth for the morrow!"

BISHOP HEBER, 1783-1826.



AND wherefore do the Poor complain? The Rich Man ask'd of me ;Come, walk abroad with me, I said, And I will answer thee.

'Twas evening, and the frozen streets
Were cheerless to behold,

And we were wrapt and coated well,
And yet we were a-cold.

We met an old bare-headed man,
His locks were thin and white;
I ask'd him what he did abroad
In that cold winter's night;

The cold was keen indeed, he said,
But at home no fire had he,
And therefore he had come abroad
To ask for charity.

We met a young bare-footed child,
And she begg'd loud and bold;
I ask'd her what she did abroad
When the wind it blew so cold;

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She said her father was at home,
And he lay sick a-bed,

And therefore was it she was sent
Abroad to beg for bread.

We saw a woman sitting down
Upon a stone to rest,
She had a baby at her back
And another at her breast;

I ask'd her why she loiter'd there
When the night-wind was so chill;
She turn'd her head, and bade the child
That scream'd behind, be still;

Then told us that her husband served,
A soldier, far away,

And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.

We met a girl, her dress was loose
And sunken was her eye,
Who with a wanton's hollow voice
Address'd the passers-by.

I ask'd her what there was in guilt
That could her heart allure

To shame, disease, and late remorse; She answer'd she was poor.

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