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And God, himself, the garment made
Which they are clothed in ;-
In the perfectness of beauty

Each several flower is made,
And Solomon, in all his pomp,

Was not like them arrayed ;-
They are but of the field, yet God

Has clothed them as ye see:-
Oh, how much more, immortal souls,
Will he not care for ye!


OH! poverty is a weary thing, 't is full of grief and pain,

It boweth down the heart of man, and dulls his cunning brain,

It maketh even the little child with heavy sighs complain!

The children of the rich man have not their bread to


They hardly know how labour is the penalty of sin;
Even as the lilies of the field, they neither toil nor spin.
And year by year, as life wears on, no wants have
they to bear;

In all the luxury of the earth they have abundant

young, each one,

Early in the morning they rise up before the rising sun, And scarcely when the sun is set, their daily task is done.


But another curse there is beside, that darkens po

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That had a place within their hearts, as one of the family.

But want, even as an armed man, came down upon their shed,

A thousand flocks were on the hills- a thousand flocks, and more,

The father laboured all day long, that his children might be fed ;

And, one by one, their household things, were sold to buy them bread.

Therefore most sorrowful it was those children small to see,

share ;

They walk among life's pleasant ways, and never Most sorrowful to hear them plead for their pet so

know a care.

Feeding in sunshine pleasantly, they were the rich man's store;

There was the while, one little lamb, beside a cottage


That father, with a downcast eye, upon his threshold stood,

Gaunt poverty each pleasant thought had in his heart subdued;

"What is the creature's life to us?" said he, "'t will buy us food!


The children of the poor man- though they be "Oh! mother dear, it loveth us; and what beside

have we?

"Ay, though the children weep all day, and with down-drooping head

Each does his small craft mournfully!- the hungry must be fed;

And that which has a price to bring, must go, to buy

us bread!"

It went-oh! parting has a pang the hardest heart to wring,

But the tender soul of a little child with fervent love

doth cling,

With love that hath no feignings false, unto each gentle thing!

Few things have they to call their own, to fill their hearts with pride,

The sunshine of the summer's day, the flowers on the highway side,

Or their own free companionship, on the heathy com- "T was vain!--they took the little lamb, and straightmon wide. way tied him down,


Hunger, and cold, and weariness, these are a frightful With a strong cord they tied him fast ;-and o'er the

common brown,

And o'er the hot and flinty roads, they took him to the town.

"Let's take him to the broad, green hills," in his impotent despair,

Said one strong boy, "let's take him off, the hills are wide and fair;


It may not have one thing to love, how small soe'er The little children through that day, and throughout

it be.

all the morrow

I know a little hiding-place, and we will keep him there!"

From everything about the house a mournful thought did borrow;

The very bread they had to eat was food unto their


Oh! poverty is a weary thing, 't is full of grief and pain

A little lamb that did lie down with the children It keepeth down the soul of man, as with an iron chain;

'neath the tree;

That ate, meek creature, from their hands, and nes- It maketh even the little child, with heavy sighs tled to their knee;



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"THY Voice is weak, thine eyes are dim," The holy father said to him; "The damp of death is on thy brow,What is thy sin ?-confess it now! Confess it ere it be too late;

Is it blood, or pride, or restless hate?"

"I have shed no blood," he thus replied,-
"I have hated none I have known no pride,-
Yet have sinned as few men beside:-
I have bound myself by oath and spell,

To the faëry people of field and fell,-
With solemn rites and mysteries; -
Can the church absolve such sins as these?"


'My son," said the friar, "tell to me

How such enchantment fell on thee;

thou hadst sinned, or it might not be."
The sick man lay on the greensward low,
But he raised himself and his words were slow:-
"I dwelt, as the minstrel dwells at best,
The thymy wold was my couch of rest;
I watched on the ancient mountains grey,
I dwelt in the greenwood, day by day;
I knew each bird that singeth free,
I had knowledge of each herb and tree;
I called each little star by name,

I watched the lightning's subtle flame;
I was learned in the skies and seas,
And earth's profoundest mysteries.
But best I loved, in the moonlight glade,
To be where the faëry people played;
And list to their music, sweet and low,
Too soft for joy, too wild for woe!
And I tuned, both even and morn,

To the witching airs of the faery horn,
Till I knew them all, and at will could bring
The revellers wild from their grassy ring.
Then I sate with them at a banquet spread,
I drank their wine that was ruby red,
And a deadly sleep came o'er my brain; —
But when I opened my eyes again,
I was not beneath my earthly tree-
A heavy darkness hung over me.
I lay in a couch-like chariot wide,
And one who drove me sat beside;
I heard him urge the horses fleet,

And I heard the sound of their ceaseless feet;
On they went, o'er the rugged road,

For days and days, with their easy load;
Swiftly we sped, and the passing air
Was cool on my cheek. and lifted my hair;—

On we went over mountains high,

And roaring waters, we journeyed by;

And through thick woods, where the air was cold:
O'er sandy wastes, and the furzy wold:
Day after day, as it seemed to me,
In a gloom like the night of eternity.
At length, I sate in another land,
With the faery people on either hand;

Where was that land, I cannot say Its light was not like the light of day, Its air was not like the air of earth

"T was the wondrous land where dreams have birth!
There were glorious things of shape divine,
There were fountains, that poured forth purple wine!
There were trees, that bent with their golden load
Of fruits, that all gifts of mind bestowed!
The very air did breathe and sigh,

As if o'erburthened with melody! —

But then there were frightful, creeping things,
The coil of the adder, the harpy's wings,-
The screech of the owl, the death-bed moan,—
And eyes that would turn the blood to stone!
I was set to the feast and half in dread


I drank of the cup, and I ate the bread :
I was told to bathe - and half in fear
I bathed myself in those waters clear;·
I ate - I drank - I bathed - and then
I could no longer have part with men.

I dwelt 'mong the faëries, their merry king,—

I danced on the earth, in the charmed ring;

I learned the songs of awful mirth,
That were made ere man abode on earth;
In the time of chaos, stern and grey,
'Mid ruins of old worlds passed away.
A careless, joyful life I led,

Till thrice seven years, as a day, had sped ; —
Ther: a longing wish was in my mind,

To dwell once more among human kind:
So up I rose, but I told to none,
What journey I was departing on;
And at the close of a summer's day,
I laid me down on the Leeder brae.
Ere long, came one, and a friar was he,
Muttering over his rosary;

He was lean, and crabbed, and old,

His voice was thick, and his prayers were cold,-
He moved not my heart; then came there by
A fair child, chasing a butterfly;
"T was a lovely boy · with his free light hair,
Like a sunny cloud, o'er his shoulders bare;
And as he danced in his glee along,
He filled the air with a joyful song;

I blessed the child from my inmost heart,
With a faëry gift, that could ne'er depart.
Next came a maiden, all alone,
And down she sate on a mossy stone:
Fair was she, as the morning's smile,
But her serious eye had a tear the while;
Then she raised to heaven her thoughtful look,
And drew from her bosom a clasped book;
Page by page of that book she read,-
Hour by hour I listened ;-

Still on she read, sedate and low,


And at every word I was wrung with woe;
For she taught what I ne'er had known before
The holy truths of the Christian lore!
And I saw the sinful life I led,

And my human heart was shook with dread;
And I, who had lived in pleasures wild,
Now wept in awe, like a stricken child!


Down I knelt, and I strove to pray,
But never a hope to my soul found way;
For with that spell I was bound and bound,
And with elvish snares was compassed round; -
But a prayer was ever on my tongue,
For soon I learnt that prayers were strong,
To unweave the webs that were in my track,
To win my soul to the faëry back.

I have wrestled hard, I have fiercely striven
'Gainst them, and for my peace with heaven;-
But now my strength doth ebb apace-
Father, can the church award me grace,
And among the blessed a dwelling-place?"
"My son," the reverend friar spake,
"Behold! how the faery web shall break;

Thou hast fought the fight-thou hast battled long-Oh! thou undoubting one, who from the tree

Of life hast plucked and eaten, well mayst thou,
Unknowing evil, walk in spirit free,
With thine unclouded brow!

And the victor here is not the strong;
But the gates of heaven are opened wide,
And the contrite heart is the sanctified!
Give up-stand hike the Hebrews, still
And behold the wonders of God's will;-
Lay down thy strift- lay down thy pride-
Lay all thy hope on Christ who died,
And thou art saved;- for at his spell
Not faery webs, but the gates of hell
Are dashed aside, like the morning mist
Oh, vainly might fay or fiend resist!
Have faith! 't is the spell of glory, given
To burst all bars on the way to heaven;
Have faith-have heaven, my son."-There ran
A sudden joy through the dying man;
And the holy father bent his knee,
Chanting, "Te laudamus, Domine!"

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With thee, the dead are blest:- they have gone forth,

Thou knowest not whither, but to some fair home, Brighter, far brighter than our summer earth,- Where sorrow cannot come.

It matters not to thee, that angel-guest
Nor spirit hath come down to tell thee where
Lie those delicious islands of the blest,--

Thou knowest that they are!

What marvel, then, that thou shouldest shed no tear, Standing beside the dead, that thou shouldst wreathe

Thyself with flowers, and thy bright beauty wear
Even in the house of death?

Thy faith is knowledge, and without a fear
Lookest thou onward in the light revealed!
Thou blessed child! In thee will I revere
The truth which God has sealed.

I will not doubt- like thee I will arise,

And clothe my soul in light, nor more repine That life, and death, and heaven, are mysteries: Thy strong faith shall be mine!

Then may I see the beautiful depart,

The fair flowers of my spring-time fade and die,
With an unquestioning, unrebellious heart,
Strong in God's certainty!



"I WAS at William Penn's country-house, called Pensbury, in Pennsylvania, where I staid some days. Much of my time I spent in seeing William Penn, and many of the chief men among the Indians, in council concerning their former covenant, now renewed on his going away for England. To pass by several particulars, I may mention the following: They never broke covenant with any people,' said one of their great chiefs; and, smiting his hand upon his head, he said, 'they made not their covenants there, but here,' said he, smiting on his breast three times.

"I, being walking in the woods, espied several wigwams, and drew towards them. The love of God filled my heart; and I felt it right to look for an interpreter, which I did. Then I signified that I was come from a far country with a message from the Great Spirit (as they call God,) and my message was to endeavour to persuade them that they should not be drunkards, nor steal, nor kill one another, nor fight, nor put away their wives for small faults; for

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