TO R. L

"Despair thou not! droop not thy wing,
However dark thy fortunes are:
Beyond the desert is a spring,

Behind the cloud, a star."

Oh! welcome thee back to the land which hath been Thy home for a few fleeting years ;

Where kind hearts have waited thee faithful and true, Where sympathy drieth the tears,—

The tears which are wrung from the uprising soul,
When it finds that its trust has been broken!

The tears that are shed all in silence, alone,

When remains not a shadow or token

Of love, from the hearts, which have cherished our youth,
Of those who are linked to our being:

But faith points the finger to that friend above,-
The tender, the ever All Seeing!

Submission is all that He asks from his child,
When the iron has entered his soul;

The Saviour of all bowed his head in despair,
And wild agony could not control,

Till the angel drew near, and strength did impart,
And light was around and within;

Though bitter drops stood on his forehead the while
Dread death was soon conquered, and sin!

The dark waves of sorrow must o'er the heart roll
Ere the gems will arise to the light,

Which lie all concealed, and in darkness untold,

Till sad tears have bedewed and made bright.

A whole ocean of sorrow, the heart can bear,
And though silent, life's battle still wage;
For he is the hero who plays his part well,
And his name's on eternity's page.

Oh, welcome thee back! for thy heart's firm and high, Though thy life hopes are wrecked on the strand; Thou wilt still crown the altar with garlands of love, And their perfume will ever expand,

And waft the soul up to that home in the skies,
Where dwells not a shadow of care,

Where love never changes, nor friendships grow cold,
Where God is,-who dreams of despair?

TO M. E.

Written on Christmas Eve.

Oh! measure not my love, dear girl,

By what I offer thee.

If so, I know full well it would
A scanty pittance be.

Turn from the trifle, dear, and look

Beyond, into the heart

Of one, who, had she power to give,
Would send thee works of art.

Golconda's gems to me were dim,
If love were wanting there:

The wealth of Ind, I should not prize,
Without fond hearts to share.

A simple flower were dearer far
Than gold from new-found mine,
If love, like perfume, went before,
Making the heart a shrine.

Oh, beautiful this world would be,
If that alone had sway!
For then the song of angels, still
Would hail His natal day.

Then take this trifling gift beloved
And question not its worth,-
But when thy spirit pines for peace,
Think of the Savior's birth!

THE MAY QUEEN'S ADDRESS.

Ye have crowned me, ye have crowned me, With the early buds of spring;

The sceptre of my royalty,

To me, with pride ye bring.

Ye have chosen me from all your band,
To guide your steps to-day :-
Thanks for that courtesy, dear friends;
Thanks from the queen of May!

Yet though the crown be on my head,
The sceptre in my hand;

I cannot do without your love,
My little cherished band ;—

For wealth and power I do not crave;
But let me strive to bind

My brow with wreathes that never fade,—
A child-like, trusting mind!

May I be worthy of your love,
And, like this simple flower,
Draw hearts to me, by kindness true,
While others seek the power.

TO MY DAUGHTER.

Take it, beloved! though it be

Not what thine heart was set upon, Take it; and sometimes think of me, But not as one who's fled and gone.

*The lily of the valley.

For linked not with that memory sad,
Should be the gift, long set apart
By thy fond mother, to make glad

Her daughter's pure and trusting heart.

No; smiles must grace thy face, not tears,
When listening to its magic tones;
No jarring thoughts shall waken fears,
To haunt thy soul, like far off moans!

'Tis not the "desk," with velvet soft, Whereon the fair white sheet should lay, 'Till thy thoughts flowed, which I so oft Have yearned to proffer thee, this day.

But take it, love; and when within,
The records of thine heart are laid,
Be angels near to shield from sin,

And crown with flowers that never fade !

ΤΟ

On the death of her little son.

"A dear one hath left us, hath passed away;
Whose life hath been like to a summer day,
Where all that is beautiful, pure, and bright,
Was gathered to share in his smiles of light.