114

FOLLY.

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake,

I

pray the Lord my soul to take."

The warrior on the battlefield,

After the battle-pillowing his head,
Perhaps, upon a fallen comrade dead-
Scorns not to yield

To the sweet memories of his childhood's hour,
When fame was bartered for a crimson flower.
The statesman grey,

His massive brow all hung with laurel leaves,
Forgets his honours while his memory weaves
A picture of that home, 'mid woods and streams,
Where hoary mountains caught the sun's first beams;
A cabin rude the wide fields glistening,

The cattle yoked, and mutely listening;

The farmer's toil, the farmer's face, and, best
Of earthly luxuries, the farmer's rest.

But hark! a soft voice steals upon his heart:

"Now say your prayer, my son, before we part;" And clasping his great hands-a child once more— Upon his breast, forgetting life's long war,

Thus hear him pray :

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
pray the Lord my soul to keep;

I

If I should die before I wake,

FOLLY.

There is folly in statesmen's schemes,
For, spite of their plotting and wit,
There's a wiser hand above

That leads them with bridle and bit.

There's folly in power and pride,
That makes full many to fall;
There's a folly in maiden's love,

But that is the sweetest of all.

But of all the follies, the worst-
For it stings with constant smart,
The scorpion of the mind-

Is that of a thankless heart.

For the thankless heart is cursed,

And with blessings encompassed grieves-
For it cannot rejoice with the hand
That gives nor yet receives.

To be thankful makes better the good;
And if Heaven should send us ill,
There is kindness in Him that gives-
So let us be thankful still.

Oh, let us be thankful in youth,
And let us be thankful in age;
Let us be thankful through life,
For there's pleasure in every stage.

Youth has its own sweet joys,

And he must be blind as a bat, Who cannot see Love's sweet smile, And will not be thankful for that.

There are friends the dearest to cheer,
Ere half our sand is run;
And affection makes wintry days
As bright as the summer's sun.

And when from the dearest on earth
We part, let us hope 'tis given

A boon to be thankful still

To meet them again in heaven.

115

RESERVE.

(From the French.)

SOMETHING should remain unseen,
All the will should not appear;
For light thoughts will intervene,
And light words to danger veer.

Sometimes on the verge of speech,
Better not be over-bold,
But little pausing cantion teach,
What to say and what withhold.

Idle talk is ever free,

And with riches soon runs o'er; Reason should the treasurer be, And still something keep in store.

BIDE YOUR TIME.

BIDE your time !—the morn is breaking, Bright with freedom's blessed ray; Millions, from their trance awaking, Soon shall stand in stern array.

Man shall fetter man no longer,
Liberty shall march sublime;
Every moment makes you stronger-
Firm, unshrinking, bide your time.

Bide your time!—one false step taken
Perils all you yet have done;
Undismayed-erect-unshaken—
Watch and wait, and all is won.

"Tis not by one rash endeavour
Men or States to greatness climb;
Would you win your rights for ever,
Calm and thoughtful, bide your time!

PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE.

Bide your time!-your worst transgression
Were to strike, and strike in vain;
He whose arm would smite oppression
Must not need to smite again!

117

PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE.

VOYAGER upon life's sea, to yourself be true,

And where'er your lot may be, "Paddle your own canoe !"
Never, though the winds may rave, falter nor look back;
But upon the darkest wave leave a shining track.

Nobly dare the wildest storm, stem the hardest gale;
Brave of heart and strong of arm, you will never fail.
When the world is cold and dark, keep an aim in view;
And toward the beacon-mark" Paddle your own canoe!"

Every wave that bears you on to the silent shore,
From its sunny source has gone, to return no more:
Then let not an hour's delay cheat you of your due;
But, while it is called to day," Paddle your own canoe!"

If

your birth denied you wealth, lofty state and power, Honest fame and hardy health are a better dower: But, if these will not suffice, golden gain pursue;

66

canoe!" Would you wrest the wreath of fame from the hand of fate?

Would

Would you bless your fellow-men? Heart and soul imbue
With the holy task, and then "Paddle your own canoe!""

you write a deathless name with the good and great?

Would

With a

crush the tyrant wrong, in the world's free fight? spirit brave and strong, battle for the right:

you

And to break the chains that bind the many to the few-
To enfranchise slavish mind-" Paddle your ovn canoe!"

118

THE MARRIAGE VOW.

Nothing great is lightly won, nothing won is lost;
Every good deed, nobly done, will repay the cost:
Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, all you will to do;
But, if you'd succced, you must "PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE!"

CUPID TAUGHT BY THE GRACES.

Ir is their summer haunt ;-a giant oak
Stretches its sheltering arms above their heads,
And midst the twilight of depending boughs
They ply their eager task. Between them sits
A bright-haired child, whose softly glistening wings
Quiver with joy, as ever and anon

He, at their bidding, sweeps a chorded shell,
And draws its music forth. Wondering, he looks
For their approving smile, and quickly drinks
(Apt pupil!) from their lips instruction sweet-
Divine encouragement! And this is Love
Taught by the Graces how to point his darts
With milder mercy and discreeter aim ;
To stir the bosom's lyre to harmony,

And waken strains of music from its chords
They never gave before!

THE MARRIAGE VOW.

SPEAK it not lightly!-'tis a holy thing,
A bond enduring through long distant years,
When joy o'er thine abode is hovering,

Or when thine eye is wet with bitterest tears,
Recorded by an angel's pen on high,

And must be questioned in eternity!

Speak it not lightly!-though the young and gay
Are thronging round thee now with tones of mirth,
Let not the holy promise of to-day

Fade like the clouds that with the morn have birth;
But ever bright and sacred may it be,

Stored in the treasure-cell of memory.