The brilliant cloud, the lovely flower,
The birds' sweet melody,

The ruin'd church, the ivied tower,

That others would pass by,

Unheeded, as the sights and sounds
Brought ev'ry day alike,

Some string to which thy heart rebounds,
Some deep-toned chord may strike.

A thousand things, that to the crowd
Unworthy notice seem,

Thou may'st behold with charms endow'd,
More beautiful may'st deem.

But, if the objects all may see,
Speak "language all thine own,"

O how much more to them must be
Thy dreams of Heaven, unknown!

A.

"THE DYING BABE."

SEE FRONTISPIECE.

THOU weepest, childless mother!
Ay, weep, 't will ease thine heart.
He was thy first born son-
Thy first, thine only one,

"T is hard from him to part!

"Tis hard to lay thy darling Deep in the cold damp earth;

His empty cule to see;

The silent nursery

Once joyous with his mirth:

To feel (half conscious why,)
A dull, heart-sinking weight;

Till memory on thy soul
Flashes the painful whole,

That thou art desolate !

And then to lie, and weep,

And think, the livelong night;

Feeding thine own distress,

With accurate greediness,

Of every lost delight ;

Of all his winning ways,
And pretty playful smiles,
His joy at sight of thee,
His tricks and mimickry,

And all his little wiles.

Oh! there are recollections,

Round mothers' hearts that cling,

That mingle with the tears

And smiles of other years,

With fond awakening.

But thou wilt then, fond mother,

In after years, look back, (Time brings such wondrous easing,)

With sadness not unpleasing,

E'en on this painful track.

Thou 'lt say-" My first born blessing,

It almost broke my heart,

When thou wert forced to go;

And yet, for thee, I know

"T was better to depart.

"God took thee in his mercy,
A lamb untask'd, untried;
His hand thy spirit moulding,
And thou His face* beholding,

Art blest and sanctified.

"I look around, and see

The evil ways of men;

And oh! beloved child!
I'm more than reconciled
To thy departure then.

"The little arms that clasped me-
The innocent lips that prest;-
Would they have been as pure
Till now, as when of yore

I lull'd thee on my breast?

*"Their angels do always behold the face of my Father."

"Now like a dew drop shrined

Within a crystal stone,

Thou'rt safe in Heaven, my dove!

Safe with the Source of love,

The everlasting One.

"And when the hour arrives, That death shall set me free,

Thy spirit may await,

The first at Heaven's gate,

To meet and welcome me."

Mount up, immortal essence!

Young spirit, haste-departAnd is this Death-dread thing?

If such thy visiting,

How beautiful thou art!

I've seen thee in thy beauty,
A thing all life and glee,
But never then wert thou

So beautiful as now,

Baby, thou seem'st to me :