Poems

Front matter

BY AUGUSTA BALDWYN,

ST. JOHNS, CANADA EAST.

"I learn from the silent poem of all creation round me."

Dedication

(by permission)

TO THE REV. JOHN IRWIN, A.M.

Rev. Sir,

Address to Readers

ADDRESS TO READERS.

As I unfold my humble strains due to nature's beauties and give the effusions which have cheered my lonely hours, I trust the kind and generous of my native land will surely not see an unwomanly pretension in so unstudied a work. Not having for a long time any intention of publishing a book, I wrote as the impression of the moment might dictate, and as a resource among a limited number of recreations. I beg leave to mention, that some of my early productions will be found interspersed through the work. In a more elaborate effort, I might have done less, though some defects might have been obviated: a studied style is apt to subside into coldness and formality.

I lay, then, my little work before you, as it were the offering of friendship; and bid you, for the present, a cordial farewell.

A.B.

15th April, 1859.

The Willow-Trees

Then converse lit the passing hour With joy no other time hath worn;— What's sweeter than the spring-time flow'r, Or lovelier than the light of morn!

When rustling in the trembling breeze, A whisp'ring melody you sung, I learn'd from you, sweet willow-trees, The music that through nature rung.

Still, still you sing, and still you wave Your boughs, as in those days of yore: But some are gone;—oh, stranger, save One for my grave,—I ask no more.

The Sabbath Morning

That bounds my vision! Soon the mist is pass'd; Soon, oh soon, will death, which is the veil That hides eternity, be drawn aside, And then will perfect bliss and knowledge be The gift of those who love Thee. Glorious nature! Holy peace is here. Sweet is the Sabbath's rest. Far brighter hues Than e'er deck'd temples in the Eastern clime When Solomon was king, now robe the sky. Harmonies arise, and praise is heard, By ear and spirit, richer than the notes From stringed harps: a spiritual hymn Ascends to heaven. The world's a temple Reared by God's own hands. Our hearts awake To ev'ry holy feeling. Nature calls The spirit to devotion. Let us join The universal anthem! Praise to Thee, To Thee, O God of love, Thy grace inspires. Oh, let no cloud of sin or care obscure The sacred joy Thy presence now hath given; Nor may my heart's submission prove as fleet As yon exhalance of the morning's tears.

The Twilight Hour

The same pure stream that seeks the vale Has glitter'd bright above; Thus, as my high aspirings rise, Be all my joys and love.

Oh, as the pure wave far on high Reflects the light of heaven, So may their humbler flow be blest, And God's own smile be given.

Night

And thus, when all is fled,— The fairness, brightness, beauty, of our days,— May hope's soft voice be sped, With all its sweet and thrilling melodies.

Similitudes in Nature

Who would doubt of holy love, Or name it but a dream? The light that shines in heaven above Is mirror'd in the stream. Wildly breaks the foaming sea O'er rocky cliffs in vain; Great life's trials all may be, Yet break they friendship's chain?

These "everlasting hills" arise Like green encircling walls; Serene and cloudless are the skies, While scarce a zephyr hills. They speak of home and soft repose, And of the heavenly rest Where "not a wave of sorrow flows Across the peaceful breast."

In beauteous nature not in vain A harmony is found; By sympathy it strikes "the chain Wherewith we're darkly bound." To those who love, or deeply feel, The poet's powers are given; All bliss and beauty they reveal, And upward point to heaven.

The Advent of Christ

Hear, hear the words that sweetly publish peace, Impartial love, and mercy, to mankind! Oh, hear, and let not doubt its shadow cast Upon that hope which Heaven has given to man! Oh, for an angel's voice to sing the song Of bliss my spirit feels!—my praise is vain. Well might celestial beings from above Descend to shout the anthems of glad joy,— To celebrate with praise to God the birth Of Him ordain'd "the way, the truth, the life," The Saviour of the lost. It well became The heavenly host to speak those rapturous words, As the bright future which the gospel brings Was all reveal'd! In harmony they said, "Glory in the highest to our God, Peace on earth, good-will to all mankind!" The flag's triumphant folds, as years pass on, Are slowly drooping, and then all the world In sacred amity will soon be join'd. Knowledge, rich treasure, lights the mind obscur'd, Bringing sweet happiness, with hope, to man; It points to God as father, and reveals His love, his wisdom; and we learn to trust In him, the Almighty Ruler, and our hearts, O'erflowing with grateful praise, are nearer bound To all around us. Light and joy and peace

Are dwelling in the plains; the wilderness Is blooming as the rose. As the waters O'er the broad sea, will knowledge spread her beams, Till all from great to small shall know the Lord!

God is here

tpp|GOD IS HERE.| {smaller} <>"All Thy works praise Thee.'"

Go forth and view the boundless sky Array'd in glorious hues on high; Behold the stars that shine above;— All, all proclaim that "God is love." For nature's voice in ev'ry tone Gives glory to our God alone, And all his works proclaim his pow'r, E'en to the humblest wild-wood flow'r. His voice is heard in all that here From nature's harp falls on the ear. The roaring thunder speaks his might; The sun that rises warm and bright; The moon, whose soft and beauteous ray Succeeds the splendours of the day; The ocean's sigh, and cat'ract's roar; The music on the streamlet's shore; The boundless forest's deep repose; The beauties of the evening's close; The very air that passes by A feeling sweet brings with its sigh, That calms the stormy, trembling breast Like some sweet spirit whisp'ring rest. All speak this truth that God is here;|end=follow

His presence brightens all our sphere. Love's gentle spirit dwells below, The light of life, the balm of woe! In all that's lovely, bright, and fair, The spirit of our God is there!

The Wave

Oh, thou pure wave that lies in perfect rest, Didst thou dance as the gay ones o'er thee pass'd? Didst thou shine as they laugh'd upon thy breast, Or wast a foe with the wild, sudden blast? Thou hast wash'd the caves Where murderers dwell; Hast sigh'd where the loving Have said their farewell!

Oh, thou still wave that cools my trembling hands, A prouder life was thine upon the sea; The ships of war thou bore from far-off lands, And merchant vessels, all have liv'd on thee. What hast thou mirror'd? The north polar-star? Hast thou leap'd in the light Of western suns far?

Oh, thou sweet wave, whose latest murmur's heard, Could thou relate all that has o'er thee sprung! We may not hear from thy proud silence word; But with the winds hast thou in concert sung. Best thee, O thou wave, Till the breezy day Wakens thee again To hasten on thy way!

Summer Scenes

The freshening air subdues the mid-day heat, And I will rest me on this shaded seat. Sweet morn, farewell I to me thou now hast given Health and a joyous heart; my praise to heaven.

And seems to roam 'mid nature's loveliness, And in her beauties and her stillness finds Mysterious happiness. The gentle air, Laden with odour from the sylvan groves, Breathes bliss around me, and its low sweet voice Seems the soft whisperings of joy to soothe The weary heart; and softly peace descends, Lulls to repose the ruffl'd waves of grief, Casts to oblivion every earthly thought, Making fair nature's solitudes appear Fraught with some bliss of heaven, for we feel The presence of Jehovah! His power is seen, His works proclaim him, and his voice is heard In nature's harmonies.

Amanda

There morning through the autumn trees Sheds beams of fairest light; Like hope, whose radiance never leaves The stricken in his blight. Her mem'ry thus doth shine for me From its pure heaven of love: All, all may fade, yet still will she Speak from her home above.

The Star of Bethlehem

tpp|THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.| {smaller} "When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy." Matthew ii. 10. >><< Oh, may that star direct our way To realms of everlasting day, Where, undefil'd, we may find rest In the bright mansions of the blest.

Oh, "bright" and glorious "Morning Star," Though great the clouds of darkness are, We will rejoice when thou "appear," And when to glory we draw near; Oh, blessed "Light," direct our way To realms of everlasting day!

The Bee

No rose that trembles in the breeze Had e'er a fairer hue, No cooler spot 'mong shady trees Has ever shelter'd yon.

Here when the stormy winds arise Thou shaft securely dwell; And music whispers in the sighs That tremble in the shell.

When morning lit the summer sky The bee came forth again; I let her from my casement fly, Nor look'd for her in vain.

She ever faithfully came home To her own chosen nest; Each morning she afar would roam, But come at night to rest.

When autumn stripp'd the rustling trees And summer's smile was gone, And winter whisper'd in the breeze And swept across the lawn,

I miss'd my gentle murm'ring bee, And sought her in her bower; For well I knew, if she were free She'd not forget this hour.

I heard no softly-murm'ring sound Within that deep-sea shell; But, raising it, I quickly found The bee I lov'd so well.

The sunny wings that in the morn Had waken'd me from rest, In death's last struggle now were torn, And folded o'er her breast.

I plac'd her in her shell again And cover'd it with moss;— None e'er my care shall seek in vain, Or find my friendship lost.

Oh, then I think of thee

4

At the sweet hour of evening's close, When the moon's rising in the sky, And all is sunk in deep repose, Except the wind's low pensive sigh, Oh, then I think of thee!

And in the tranquil hours of night, When not a sound or breath is giv'n, When softly beams the moon's pale light, My pray'r for thee ascends to heav'n; Oh, then I think of thee!

The Creation

And gentle songs of birds, ere man was made, Woke music's echo. Nature sang for joy! But not for these had the Creator made The lovely earth, the glowing lights of heaven! No! rob'd in innocence, and nobly form'd In his Creator's image, man appear'd; And all to him was giv'n,—a rich inheritance! Fair was his home in Eden; sweet the joy Of love that beam'd upon him; while above God's favor rested: joy was heard in heaven. The morning stars look'd down and sang together; View'd all the glories of commencing time, And joyous shone, as, in their heavenly sphere, They rush'd upon their glorious course: They there shall shine until th' eternal sun, The Sun of Righteousness, dispels their beams, And never fade till time shall be no more.

Absence

But ah, that orb so bright is gone,— It sank beyond the cloudy west; And thus when we are left alone, Our sky with gloomy clouds is dress'd.

And while receding from our view, Though brightly beam'd its parting smile, The deeper ev'ry shadow grew, Nor hope could one regret beguile.

And I have said Farewell to thee; Thy smile has faded from my view; Thine absence is deep gloom to me; Ah! might we never say Adieu!

Ode to the Seasons

The summer comes so gay, And brilliant fruits are shining; The fields are rich in hay, 'Tis nature's holiday, And flow'rs, their buds entwining, Shed odours fair Upon the air, The breeze the sweetest finding!

Now, like a noble queen O'er her past glory sighing, The autumn decks the scene, And changes the soft green For glorious hues, Which she doth choose To robe her hour of dying!

Over the mournful plain The stormy winds are blowing; Winter abroad doth reign,— I hear his voice again; Dark clouds above are snowing. But ah, the frost In light is lost! Hope lives though life is going!

The Greenwood Tree

And here again, while Autumn winds Disrobe the beauteous greenwood tree, And clouds obscure that scene afar, I stray alone, and think of thee, Beneath our own dear tree!

A Sketch of Life

Behold that aged form in weakness bent; She waits her daughter to the village sent; She comes, but bears no life-sustaining food,— The broken branches of the dark pine-wood Alone are theirs! She, weeping, lights the fire, And sees her mother by the flame expire!

Now tell me, ye who sport away awhile So gaily in the world's uncertain smile, Would life be not made richer if ye knew Your wealth from sorrow had saved e'en a few? Oh, sweeter far the kindness which bestows The needful help, than all that avarice knows. When call'd at death to leave this happy scene, Thou wilt remember what the past hath been; And at the judgment 'twill not be forgot, Didst save the hungry or supply them not?

The gloomy shades around the church are fled, And softest lustre o'er the altar's shed; There stands a maiden by a faithful lover: They now depart, the spoken vows are over. Gay sounds proceed from yonder lighted hall; Soft strains of music from its casements fall; Light feet are dancing to the rapid measure, And ev'ry eye and ev'ry voice speaks pleasure.

See yonder dwelling, mansion of the fair, Where learning holds her rule supremely; there The hours of study now give place to play, So priz'd, so dear, when gone the quiet day. Can any doubt that joyous tone of glee Springs forth from hearts from care and sorrow free. Ah! wonder not that joy's unchequer'd light Should cause them to forget the sad to-night!

One would suppose this hour an hour of rest, When ev'ry one with quiet leisure blest Would now the spirit-longing search pursue, The search for truth, or warmly else renew, As evening spreads her soft, descending veil, Their wanderings through the new historic tale. But ah! this hour sees the weary still With rigour all the day's long toil fulfil; Then as the stroke of midnight dies away, Sink on their beds too weary far to pray! Can these be men? to live without a thought Of Him who died for them, whose blood has bought Their ransom? he who gave up heaven? Can they not breathe one prayer to be forgiven? Can they not "watch one hour"? Is lux'rous ease A nobler theme and object far than these? Go on and heap up riches, but you'll find Tis vain t' enjoy them with an empty mind!

I cannot blame the poor for toiling on, When day, with all its vigour, long has gone. The honest purpose to fulfil their task, Or gain the price necessity must ask, May bind them to their labour by the light That "goes not out" through all the weary night. A blessing rests upon them, and the stain Of sordid avarice can not remain. Love for a wife or kindred makes it right, And sanctifies the labour. Moral light Beams on the sacrifice. The soul is free To place its hopes beyond the world we see!

I will not paint scenes of a diff'rent kind, Where sad ebriety defiles the mind; Where every thought of God or good is lost, And idle souls in folly's whirl are toss'd!

But I would in this hour behold and see If wealth and grandeur are from sorrow free; If gold can purchase friendship, joy, or ease, (Tis seldom riches all alone can please: The heart, the mind, require more than these.)

There is a mansion—but I will not paint A splendour where description would be faint. There all that can fastidious fancy please Graces within; and flowers and sunny trees

Adorn the scene without: but all is cold. 'Tis like, to me, the fairy home of old Where silence dwelt one hundred weary years: Such is such splendour; but at last appears The love that chases all its gloom away. Tis come, that gentle presence! will it stay? No! as in the scene presented, 'tis alone, And fruit and flower change again to stone: Why, why is this? she finds her bridegroom blind, (At least to ev'ry virtue of the mind.) Then vanity steps in and takes the reins; In discontent and anger he complains, Not thinking he who makes his home no home Gives full occasion to the fair to roam.

And p'rhaps he seeks a vain fatiguing joy In those gay pleasures that dull time destroy! Then farewell, health and happiness and ease: Man is immortal, and these cannot please!

Oh, happier far the humbler state of those Who in contentment's quiet shade repose! Blest with a competence, they heed not care, But aid the poor, and hospitably share Their cheerful fireside with mutual friends, Where cultur'd mind with mind so sweetly blends. There sits calm industry with busy hands; Those children learn to love the Lord's commands; There every hope that cheers the human breast Makes life serene, and points to heavenly rest!

Oh, bless'd religion! whate'er man's varied fate, Tis thou alone canst make him truly great. Oh, guide us safe through every care and ill; Teach us to know thee, and thy laws fulfil; Where poverty bends with supplicating knee, May kind support and comfort flow from thee. Where riches raise their proud, imposing head, May gentle beamings of thy light be shed, Till, won to gaze on heavenly truths here giv'n, The heart be led to happiness and heaven.

And may the dreaded thunder of thy voice, Which bids the humble spirit to rejoice, Recall the wanderer from his dangerous way, And teach returning sinners how to pray. O'er all the land may truth divine be spread, And ev'ry heart, by holy teachings led, Seek higher joys than earthly things afford, And give due glory to our risen Lord. And may the power that sheds its heaven-born light O'er many a dwelling in this land to-night, Direct me still, and guard me lest I stray, And guide the orphan on her lonely way.

The Sailor-Boy

tpp|THE SAILOR-BOY.| {smaller} <>(Written at the age of 11 years.)

Far from his home, o'er the dark blue sea,

No sound of earth or singing bird,

But the bracing air, so pure and free,

Amid the sails alone is heard

By the young sailor, yet he lives

A happy life; his hours are cheer'd

By such delight as freedom gives;

And when no danger can be fear'd,

How gaily pass the sunny hours

Upon the broad and glorious sea!

And though he sees no more the flow'rs,

Few are so happy, gay, as he!

1838.

The Winter Morning

tpp|THE WINTER MORNING.| {smaller} (Written in the winter of '39, after the cessation of the troubles in Canada.) >><< The white frost clinging to the leafless trees

In the early sunshine sparkles brightly;

And pure and frosty is the fresh'ning breeze

That waves the glit'ring branches lightly!

And, firm and white

To the dazzl'd sight,

The spotless snow-banks now surround us;

And, loud and clear

And far and near,

The "merry sleigh-bells" ring around us!

No cloud I see!

All, all is glee!

And brightness gems the snow-clad earth;

While o'er the stream

The woodman's team

Is swiftly driven!—all is mirth! The cheerful song and joyous laugh once more Are heard responded by the wooded shore; And peace and gladness have resum'd their sway;— Oh, may they never cease or fade away! And may each heart, for these great blessings given, Pour forth the prayer of thankfulness to heaven!

Lines to a young Friend

tpp|LINES TO A YOUNG FRIEND.| {smaller} (Given with a picture of a young man crossing the Alps.) >><< Behold the youth who hastens on

O'er Alpine heights and foaming streams,

But fixes all his hopes upon

The goal of his fondest dreams.

So be thou blest amid life's storms;

So high and upward be thy way;

Heaven shield thee safe from all alarms,

And guide thee to eternal day.

Comfort in Religious Hope

There glorious reigns fair Zion's king, Before him darkness flies; While saints their heavenly chorus sing, And angels mount the skies.

His truths eternal feed the mind,— His glorious purposes; The sorrowful calm pastures find,— He reigns in heaven to bless.

Now darkly on the ocean cast, No wind or storm shall move; Soon will the dreary void be past, And thou shalt rest in love.

The dreary void! not such to me Life's lone and weary waste: Thy power, oh God, is on the sea; We here thy mercy taste.

Yes! every blast that rends the sky Is guided by thy hand; Tis sweet to know that thou art nigh To bring us safe to land.

Then stormy tempest sweetly sounds,— It hastes our voyage home: Soon shall we reach our earthly bounds, And to the fair haven come.

My Chamber

O Blessed Light! O Power Divine! From thee flows every good: Thou only source of life and joy, Whose truth hath ever stood, Shine on me still, and bless mine hours of solitude!

Letter from the Country

tpp|LETTER FROM THE COUNTRY.| {smaller} <>(Written at the age of 16.)

Dear sister, I steal a short time,

Having now rock'd the baby asleep,

To write you a letter in rhyme,

('Tis a secret I beg you will keep!)

That Rs a very fine place,

I will not pretend to deny;

A very fine man is Judge C;

Of others I'll write by-and-by.

Maria and I often walk out,

Which 'I guess' the 'folks think' 'pretty strange';

They talk of it much, there's no doubt,

As they think all are idle who range.

But we always walk'd out when at home,

And are all "doing use" through the day;

Oh, sure it is right thus to roam,

As at evening alone do we stray?

I'm delighted with all the fine views;

The hills, and the valleys, and trees;

Indeed I see much to amuse,

Of which I will write, if you please.

|end=stanza

The steam doctors have had 'a convention'; Men, women, and children did go, To hear of this strange new invention, Said to cure all diseases, you know.

They say it turns gray hairs to brown, Can smooth an old maid's wrinkl'd cheek; Can dispel from the brow every frown, Make furies look lovely and meek!

'Tis said, and I doubt not the truth, That love it will cure in all cases; From the mind of a too-faithful youth All thoughts of his lady-love chases!

Now if pity still dwells in your breast, Oh, publish this piece of good news; As you have so often oppress'd, In mercy you cannot refuse!

Enough of this nonsense, you'll say, And tell me about all my friends;— I saw Miss H. B. yesterday, And she much love to you sends.

Fanny C. is married at last! I went to the wedding with Jane; Though the sky did look overcast, And we were afraid it would rain.

Only think! I was sweeping the room. And I such a figure did look; In terror I dropped the hair-broom, As a loud rap announc'd Mr. Brook!

He is really a fine-looking beau, Though rather too tall for my taste; He came to invite us to go, And seem'd in a very great haste.

Fair Fanny was splendidly dress'd; The luncheon I will not dwell on; Her marriage of all was the best; Laugh not, and I will now tell on.

I dream'd on a piece of the cake Three nights; but it was all in vain! Oh, do you, my dear, think it will make Poor me an old maid to remain?

I went to the cottage so spruce, And we talked a great deal about you. To be friendly I find is no use; All you told of the maiden is true.

'Melinda's' not call'd on me yet; 'Julia Anna' call'd when I was out; Their cousins came too,—what a set; You remember our call there, no doubt.

On my return I found Hannah here; Jeremiah had driven her down; And oh, I saw Moses, the dear, When John drove me to church "up in town."

I really do like Mr. Potter; His sermon I'll never forget. I see every day "the old trotter"; I've not seen my friend David yet.

I have made my new cambric dress; Have altered my merino one too; I have made those monstrous sleeves less, And it looks just as well as if new.

I write full many a piece too When evening and silence prevail; And.I've read three books at least too, Though much has suspended the tale.

This morning I got your long letter, (You've written me two since I came). I am glad to hear you are better; And happy to say I'm the same.

Letters I never write often; But I've now been here a long time; So your just displeasure to soften I've attempted to write you in rhyme.

But this I must bring to a close, Although I have much more to tell; The rest I will write you in prose, And this evening will bid you farewell.

Marina's Daughter

Th' ascending beams intensely glow, And voices call her to her home; And on her flax must she bestow The thoughts that ever far would roam.

But when the moon ascends the skies, She seeks once more the mum'ring watery She sees the stars descend and rise, And mournful is Marina's daughter.

'Oh! gentle moon and evening star That gild the western sky of even, Ye speak of some sweet home afar, Some joy, some rest, the heart's own heaven.

'And ye soft sounds that on the air Bear music to the list'ning heart, Is there a voice now floating there With which mine own may bear a part?

'It comes! it mingles with my soul Like notes once heard in some dear home! Now, may the wild waves roar and roll, Marina's daughter here shall roam! Blow, blow ye winds! the sad one hears The voice, the tone, of happier years!

The stormy winds arose and roar'd, And lash'd to foam the sleeping water; But in the storm her spirit soar'd, And happy was Marina's daughter.

But hark! that voice of gentlest tone Recalls her wand'ring steps from far; She pauses; she is not alone,— An eye beams on her like a star.

'Why dost thou stray amidst the storm, And listen to the roaring water? Is this a scene for thy fair form? Come home, come home, Marina's daughter?

'Come to my home, where love will twine Unfading wreaths around thy brow; My voice in song will join with thine, Ah, we may sing together now!

The glorious sun, the rising moon, Shall witness all our life of love; They shine upon the flow'rs of June; They glorious shine in heav'n above.

And they will beam upon us here, And gild life's ever-changeful water; And holier light awaits us there, Where is our home, Marina's daughter!

Mary

Dark poverty has enter'd that proud hall; The wife is weeping o'er her wretched fate; She heeds not her sweet infant's plaintive call: But Mary hastens through those halls of state.

She kneels beside the lovely little one; Then on her tender bosom, with deep joy, She bears to the proud mother her fair son, And asks if she may tend the noble boy.

With weeping eyes, the babe the mother gives. And asks what stranger seeks her lone abode: No other being among all that lives For many days the silent hall had trod?

'I am a maid,' the blushing girl repli'd, 'Whose home was in seclusion's humble shade, But wealth last year came when mine uncle died, And with the same what you have ow'd is paid.

'This house is yours,—but let me rear this boy, The image of the dead whom we have lov'd; He to our hearts will give delight and joy'; Her true devotion the great lady mov'd.

'Oh, Mary, thou art worthy of all love! I, by my folly, lost my once dear home. He whom we lov'd will witness all above: Here dwell, and rear our boy;—sweet Mary, come!'

Autumn

Shed joy around; nor e'en the waves' low tone Whispers soft music at the day's decline. A sadness droppeth from the autumn skies, And a stern threatening of coming storms;— Thus must earth's beauty fade without the light Of the fair summer's sun; and I do mourn, For I have lov'd its grandeur. Shine once more, Sweet sun of spring! and, with the birds, my voice Again shall mingle its rejoicing hymn.

To my Canaries

Here, guarded through the wintry hours And shelter'd from the summer storm, Your cages shaded o'er with flowers, You never know a sad alarm. But sweetly sing, While I withal to you your repast bring!

This is your home, and here your song Is full of joy and sweet delight; To you, sweet birds, no cares belong,— You fold the fearless wings at night. No cruel cat, or bird of prey, Shall harm one primrose-colour'd plume; Your merry song shall cheer my day, And I will guard you in the gloom! Then sweetly sing, And give to joy your grateful offering!

Lines to a Friend

What think you of when pensively above, And brightly, shines the moon and ev'ning star That is the hour when we have wander'd, love; Soft sounds were round us, echoes sighed afar.

What think you of when tempests wildly roar, And far the light'ning hashes o'er the sea, And loudly break the billows on the shore,— Ah! do you give a sigh or thought to me?

What think you of? upon the world above, Where sin and sorrow will be felt no more, But where the law that governs all is love, And bliss awaits we never knew before?