I'll love it, and with holy love;
For its high mysteries will employ
Thought, language, love, in worlds of joy.
- and such be my bliss above!
Earth has sweet portion in the soul,
And shall, as countless ages roll.

There

CHARITY.

“Go, heal the sick, go, raise the dead,” The Saviour to the Seventy said;

They straightway spread abroad the flame Of sacred Mercy, in his name.

Lord, we are not commissioned thus;
To quell disease is not for us;
We cannot bid insensate dust

To rise, and tomb and cerement burst.

But we can cheer the dwelling, where
Is found the son of want and care;
And smooth the couch on which at last
The daughter of despair is cast.

And we may hush the orphan's fear,
And wipe away the widow's tear :
Win back the wand'ring and undone,
And clothe and feed the needy one.

Thus seeking such as thou didst know, Who wast companion, too, of wo;

Thus following paths thyself didst tread, Who often raised the drooping head;

Humbled, if, when the blessed stand
In judgment at thy high right hand,
We hear thee say, "Whatever ye
Have done to these, ye did to ME."

THE FARM SCHOOL,

ON THOMPSON'S ISLAND, BOSTON HARBOR.

'Tis well to gather from your street
The children of neglect,

And teach them, in this fair retreat,
To win deserved respect;
And train the twig, so early bent
To vice, by culture kind;
And look for fruit of your intent-
The tree aright inclined.

'Tis well to snatch from Penury's den
Its hapless child, and show

Humanity is godlike, when
It softens human wo.

'Tis well-for ye of Misery's tomb
Have burst the iron bars,

And called up slumbering mind, to bloom
Above the fading stars!

I marked each youthful eye, and saw
High purpose kindle there;

I saw the future statesman, or

One who shall venture where

The wise, in elder years have stood;
Or him, whose honors won

Shall throne his name among the good,
His country's choicest son.

Or, moulded here in honest ways,
And led in ductile youth-
One who shall fearless go in praise
And battle for the truth;

Or go to prove how surely peace

Lies fallow on the soil,

When skill and care insure increase

To crown the yeoman's toil.

I read each look of intellect,

And Heaven I thanked again,

That from lost hopes and households wrecked,

Such treasures yet remain;

And prayed that those who, still in tears,

Tread paths of want and sin,

The thousands of unripened years—

Might here be garnered in.

THE CHILD OF THE TOMB;

A STORY OF NEWBURYPORT.

The following fact is found in Knapp's "Life of Lord Dexter."

WHERE WHITEFIELD sleeps, remembered, in the dust, The lowly vault held once a double trust;

And PARSONS, reverend name, that quiet tomb

Possessed

to wait the day of weal and doom. Another servant of the living God,

PRINCE, Who (bereft of sight) his way had trod,
Unerringly and safe, life's journey through –
Now sought admittance to these slumberers too.
As earth receded, and the mansions blest

Rose on his vision

With Whitefield's,'

"Let my body rest

said he, yielding up his breath,

In life beloved, and not disjoined in death.

Obedient to his wish, in order then

Were all things done; the tomb was oped to ken
Of curious eyes-made ready to enclose
Another tenant in its hushed repose:

And, lighted with a single lamp, whose ray
Fell dimly down upon the mouldering clay,
Was left, prepared, to silence as of night,
Till hour appointed for the funeral rite.

It chanced, the plodding teacher of a school A man of whim, bold, reckless, yet no foolDeemed this an opportunity to test

How far the fears of spirits might infest
The bosom of a child. A likely boy,

The choicest of his flock, a mother's joy,
He took, unscrupulous of means, if he
His ends might gain, and solve the mystery.

Both stood within the mansion of the dead,
And while the stripling mused, the teacher fled,
Leaving the child, where the dull cresset shone
With the dumb relics and his God alone.
As the trap-door fell suddenly, the stroke,
Sullen and harsh, his solemn revery broke.
Where is he? - Barred within the dreadful womb
Of the cold earth — the living in the tomb!
The opened coffins showed Death's doings, sad
The awful dust in damps and grave-mould clad.
Though near the haunt of busy, cheerful day,
He, to drear night and solitude the prey!
Must he be watcher with these corpses

Who

Can tell what sights may rise? Will reason then be true?
Must he,
-a blooming, laughter-loving child, —
Be mated thus? - The thought was cruel, wild!
His knees together smote, as first, in fear,
He gazed around his prison; — then a tear
Sprang to his eyes in kind relief; and said
The little boy, "I will not be afraid.
Was ever spirit of the good man known
To injure children whom it found alone?"
And straight he taxed his memory, to supply
Stories and texts, to show he might rely
Most safely, humbly, on his Father's care —