I WOULDNA GIE A COPPER PLACK,
I WOULDNA gie a copper plack
For ony man that turns his back
On duty clear:
I wouldna tak his word or note,
I wouldna trust him for a groat,
Nor lift an oar in ony boat
Which he might steer.
I wouldna gie an auld bawbee
For ony man that I could see
Wha didna hold
The sweetness o' his mither's name,
The kindness o' his brother's claim,
The honour o' a woman's fame,
For mair than gold.
WE keep the watch together,
Doubt and I,
In stress of midnight weather,
Doubt and I,
Stand peering into darkness,
Foreboding rock and shoal,
Or shrinking in our weakness
From waves that o'er us roll.
We pace the deck together,
Faith and I;
And catch in darkest weather
The far-off eastern sky,
Where, robed in dazzling splendour,
Shine planet, star, and sun;
Where, lost in truth eternal,
Doubt, Faith, and I are one.
A SONG OF SATISFACTION.
I WILL not chide because the day
Is dark and cold;
For 'yond the clouds of deepening gray,
I know are struggling shaft and ray
Of sunshine's gold,
That for me tireless warfare keep,
And, peradventure, should I weep,
Just when my eyes were filled with tears
So full I could not see,
Victoriously might gleam their spears,
A victory gained for me-
Who blinded by a childish woe,
The conquest hour might never know.
I will not doubt because my heart
Waits love delayed;
But hold in check the words that start
With promise false to ease the smart,
Their intent to upbraid;
For but to harbour in my mind
A faithless thought, a word unkind,
A fear--a dread-of impish birth-
That time might make me ru
Would so detract from my poor worth
And brand my heart untrue,
That all my life would leavened be
By this one hour's inconstancy.
Lo! I'm not false that I should fear
My life's reward,
Nor doubtful that I crave to peer
Beyond the view assigned me here
To stray abroad,
What care I, who am heir to all,
For whom the lights and shadows fall,
For whom the servant seasons turn-
For one brief hour's suspense?
will not fear, if I must yearn,
But smile with joy prepense,
That my small life is of such cost,
No heart-beat will be vainly lost.
-Anna K. Kelledy.
NOT only those above us on the height,
With love and praise and reverence I greet;
Not only those who walk in paths of light
With glad, untiring feet;
These too I reverence, toiling up the slope,
And resting not upon their rugged way,
Who plant their feet on faith and cling to hope,
And climb as best they may.
And even these I praise, who, being weak,
Were led by folly into deep disgrace;
Now striving, on a pathway rough and bleak,
To gain a higher place.
For wisely have they done, and passing well,
To chose what seemed a dim and hopeless way,
And upward from the choking depths of hell
To climb as best they may.
Remorse and burning shame and deep despair,
These are the hell, its demons and its fire;
They vanish when the sufferer lifts in prayer
His purified desire.
Then dawns the truth upon him, clear and sweet;
Flames cannot scorch him then, or demons stay;
All heedless of his bare and bleeding feet,
He climbs as best he may.
Oh! struggling souls, be brave and full of cheer,
Nor let your holy purpose swerve or break;
The way grows smoother and the light more clear
At every step you take.
Lo, in the upward path God's boundless love
Supports you evermore upon your way;
You cannot fail to reach the heights above
Who climb as best you may!
-Eudora S. Bumstead.
I SAW him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement-stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found,
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets,
Sad and wan;
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone."
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has press'd
În their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear,
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said—
Poor old lady! she is dead
Long ago-
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-corner'd hat,
And the breeches-and all that
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree,
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
-Oliver W. Holmes.
I AM tired. Heart and feet
Turn from busy mart and street;
I am tired-rest is sweet.
I am tired. I have played
In the sun and in the shade,
I have seen the flowers fade.
I am tired. I have had
What has made my spirit glad,
What has made my spirit sad.
I am tired. Loss and gain!
Golden sheaves and scattered grain !
Day has not been spent in vain.
I am tired. Eventide
Bids me lay my cares aside,
Bids me in my hopes abide.
I am tired. God is near,
Let me sleep without a fear,
Let me die without a tear.
I am tired. I would rest
As the bird within the nest;
I am tired. Home is best.
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