TO THE GENTIANELLA. ANN BEALE. OH! Would my breast were like to thine, Open whene'er the sun doth shine, Conscious of tempest and of blight, As thou dost ope thy dark blue eye Until his beams retreat; unclose To every blessing given, Nor careless sink into repose, Whilst all is bright in heaven. So should our inmost hearts unfold Nor e'er be closed, or dead, or cold, But wherefore slowly droops thy head? The tempest broods-how keen thy sense! And thou must make thy self-defence Harmless the winds have passed thee by ; The rain-drops find no rest; Lightly they fall, as tear or sigh, Upon thy guarded breast. Thus should the world's keen, biting breath And changing atmosphere Its poisoned winds, that tell of death- Find the heart guarded well, and steeled, And firmly girt with Prayer! RUTH AND NAOMI. MRS RILEY. LEAVE thee, my mother? think'st thou we can part? Cheer thy sad journey to thy native land? Thy slightest wish was wont in happier days, When thy child seeks with thee a peaceful rest, Think'st thou the faith taught by the lips I lov'd His hope in death, is dimmed by thoughts of earth? Together we rejoiced in brighter years; Sharing the self-same home, the self-same lot; Together we have mingled bitter tears: To leave thee now, my mother, ask me not! Where'er thou wanderest, thither will I roam— Thy God shall be my God, thy home my home! (Original.) FAITH. REV. W. H. BATHURST. FAITH is the homage which we owe to God, And drinks with joy of that refreshing spring, Faith pierces through the mists that hover here, It is not lonely; God is near at hand, While to its favoured view the angelic band Shines forth, whom God appoints around his saints to stand. |