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And I know, now, how Jesus could liken
The kingdom of God to a child.
I ask not a life for the dear ones,
All radiant, as others have done,
To temper the glare of the sun;
But my prayer would bound back to myself ;' Ahl a seraph may pray for a sinner,
But a sinner must pray for himself.
The twig is so easily bended,
I have banished the rule and the rod; I have taught them the goodness of knowledgo,
They have taught me the goodness of God; My heart is the dungeon of darkness,
Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction;
My love is the law of the school.
I shall leave the old house in the autumn,
To traverse its threshold no more;
That meet me each morn at the door;
And the gush of their innocent glee,
That are brought every morning for me.
I shall miss them at morn and at even,
Their song in the school and the street; I shall miss the low huin of their voices,
And the tread of their delicate feet.
And death says “the school is dismissed,"
CHARLES M. DICKINSON
The Burial of Sir John Moore.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
And the lanthorn dimly burning.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast,
Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.
Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head
And we far away on the billow;
Lightly they 'll talk of the spirit that 's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,-
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
But half of our heavy task was done,
When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down,
From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stoneBut we left him alone with his glory.
Song.- If I had Thought.
If I had thought thou couldst have died
I might not weep for thee;
That thou couldst mortal be.
The time would e'er be o'er,
And thou wouldst smile no more..
And still upon that face I look, in
And think 't will smile again;
That I must look in vain.
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead.
If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene,
And where thy smiles have been.
Thou seemest still mine own;
And I am now alone.
I do not think, where'er thou arty
And I perhaps may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee;
Of light ne'er seen before,
Song.- Oo, Forget Me i
Go, forget me! Why should sorrow
O'er that brow a shadow Aing?
Brightly smile and sweetly sing.
May thy soul with pleasure shine,
Like the Sun, thy presence glowing
Clothes the meanest things in light;
Loveliest objects fade in night.
By that pure and lucid mind
Go, thou vision wildly gleaming,
Softly on my soul that fell; Go, for me no longer beaming
Hope and Beauty, fare ye well! Go, and all that once delighted Take, and leave me all benighted : Glory's burning, generous swell, Fancy, and the poet's shell.
The First Miracle.
A Javanese Poem. i.
I do not know where I shall die. I saw the great sea on the south coast, when I was there
with my father making salt. If I die at sea, and my body is thrown into the deep
water, then sharks will come: They will swim round my corpse, and ask, Which of us shall devour the body that goes down into the water?"
I shall not hear it.
I do not know where I shall die. I saw in a blaze the house of Pa-Ausoë, Which he himself had set on fire because he was mata
glap. If I die in a burning house, glowing embers will fall on my
corpse, And outside the house there will be many cries of men
throwing water on the fire to kill it. t..
I shall not hear it.
I do not know where I shall die. I saw the little Si-Oenah fall out of a klappa tree, when
he plucked the klappa for his mother. If I fall out of a klappa tree, I shall lie dead below in the
shrubs, like Si-Oenah. Then my mother will not weep, for she is dead.. . But others will say with a loud voice, “See, there lies
i I shall not hear it.