A TRAVELLER through a dusty road,
Strewed acorns on the lea,
And one took root, and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows;
And age was pleased, in heats of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs:
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore:
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing ever more!
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern:
A passing stranger scooped a well,
Where weary men might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle at the brink:
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.
He passed again; and lo! the well,
By summers never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, And saved a life beside!
A dreamer dropped a random thought;
'Twas old, and yet 'twas new,—
A simple fancy of the brain,
But strong in being true.
It shone upon a genial mind,
And, lo! its light became
A lamp of light, a beacon ray,
A monitory flame.
The thought was small-its issue great,
A watch-fire on the hill,
lt sheds its radiance far adown, And cheers the valley still!
A nameless man amid a crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied, from the heart:
A whisper on the tumult thrown,—
A transitory breath,—
It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death,
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
READER, thou and I are gleaners
In the harvest-field of Time;
Day by day the grain is ripening
For a sunnier clime.
Whether in the early morning,
Going forth with busy feet,
Or, as weary labourers, resting
'Mid the noonday heat.
Let us strive with cheerful spirits
Each our duties to fulfil,
Till the time of harvest-subject
To the Master's will.
Let us garner up sweet memories,
Bound with ties of love;
Pleasant thoughts to cheer the pathway
To our home above.
Trusting that these precious gleanings,
Bound with loving hand,
May in golden sheaves be gathered
To the spirit land.
THY neighbour? It is he whom thou
Hast power to aid and bless;
Whose aching head, or burning brow,
Thy soothing hand may press.
Thy neighbour? 'Tis the fainting poor
Whose eye with want is dim,
Whom hunger sends from door to door,-
Go thou, and succour him.
Thy neighbour? 'Tis that weary man
Whose years are at their brim,
Bent low with sickness, care, and pain,-
Go thou, and comfort him.
Thy neighbour? 'Tis that heart bereft
Of every earthly gem;
Widow and orphan, helpless left,—
Go thou, and shelter them.
Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave,
Fettered in thought and limb,
Whose hopes are all beyond the grave,-
Go thou, and ransom him.
Whene'er thou meet'st a human form,
Less favoured than thine own,
Remember 'tis thy neighbour worm,
Thy brother, or thy son.
Oh, pass not heedless-pass not by !
Perhaps thou canst redeem
The breaking heart from misery;
Go, share thy lot with him!
"COULDST THOU NOT WATCH ONE HOUR?"
THE night is dark-behold, the shade was deeper In the old garden of Gethsemane,
When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper, "Couldst thou not watch one hour alone with me?",
Oh, thou so weary of thy self-denials,
And so impatient of thy little cross,
Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,
To count all earthly things as gainful loss?
What if thou always suffer tribulation,
And if thy Christian warfare never cease;
The gaining of the quiet habitation
Shall gather thee to everlasting peace.
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