A creature vowed to serve both God and man,
No narrow aims thy cherished care control;
Thou dost all faith, love, pity, watching can,
To heal the body, and to save the soul.

No matter who, so he thy service need;
No matter what the suppliant's claim may be;
Thou dost not ask his country or his creed;
To know he suffers is enough for thee.

Not e'en from guilt dost thou thine aid withhold,
Whose Master bled a sinful world to save;
Fearless in faith, in conscious virtue bold,
'Tis thine the sick blasphemer's couch to brave;

To note the anguish of despairing crime,
Lash the wild scorpions of the soul within;
Those writhings fierce, those agonies sublime,

That seem from conscience half their force to win:

Then stand before the dark demoniac's sight,-
The cup of healing in thy gentle hand;-
A woman, strengthened with an angel's might,
The storm of pain and passion to command.

To calm the throbbings of his fevered brow;
Cool his parched lips, his bleeding wounds to bind;
And with deep faith, before the Cross to bow
For power to still the tumult of his mind.

And it is given: thy softliest whispered word
There falls like oil on a tempestuous sea;
Hard as his heart may seem, there's yet a chord

Once touched, his ravings all are stilled by thee.

THE SISTER OF CHARITY.

I see thee stand and mark that wondrous change,
With more than mortal triumph in thine eye;
Then blessed and blessing, turn with tears to range
Where other claimants on thy pity lie.

By many a faint and feeble murmur led,
A willing slave, where'er the wretched call;
I see thee softly flit from bed to bed,
Each wish forestalling, bearing balm to all.

Performing humblest offices of love

For such as know no human love beside, Still on thy healing way in mercy move, Daughter of Pity, thus for ever glide!

All peace to thee and thy devoted band,

Vowed to earth's gloomy "family of pain;" Whose worth could e'en the unwilling awe command Of blood-stained men who owned no other chain.

Long may ye live the cherished badge to wear,
Whose snow-white folds might dignify a queen;

To fainting souls your cup of life to bear,

And be the angels ye have ever been.

28

137

STANZAS.

ADDRESSED TO MISS M. J. JEWSBURY, LATE MRS. FLETCHER, ON HER "FAREWELL TO THE MUSE."

GENTLE Minstrel, say not so,

Bid not thus the Muse farewell;
Since to her 'tis thine to owe
Many a soft and soothing spell;
Fraught with power to bring a train

Of unbidden joys around thee:
If she "lightens hours of pain,"

And when Fate's barbed arrows wound thee,

Pours upon thy bleeding heart

Balsam sweet to heal the smart;

If thou'st loved her "long and well,"
Wherefore bid her now farewell?

Fame's proud steep is hard to climb;
Never poet gained its brow,
And its laurel wreath sublime,
But with toilsome steps and slow;

For the Muse is coy to yield

To the first light vows we make her;
Who would see her spells unsealed,

To their inmost hearts must take her;
Cherish her in weal or woe,
And all other loves forego;
Nor, when fancies wild impel,
Bid her thus, like thee, farewell!

STANZAS TO M. J. J.

Why pronounce her promise vain,
And her name, ungrateful, wrong;
Why declare in such a strain,

In so wildly sweet a song,
That she ne'er to thee hath given
Gleams of her ethereal fire,-
Foretaste of her native heaven,
Now to soften, now inspire.
Where, if not on hearts like thine,
May she pour her rays divine!
To whom may she her mysteries tell,
If thou must bid her thus farewell!

Then take thy Lute, and it shall be,—
Betide what may of dark or bright,—
Even as Aladdin's lamp to thee,

The depths of thine own heart to light:
To point where gems unnumbered shine,
Wealth thou mayst scarcely deem of now,
And bid thee thence a circlet twine,

To grace thy young, aspiring brow;
A wreath of more than mortal birth,
To keep thy memory green on earth,
When thou hast bidden Song's sweet spell,
Muse, Lute, and Life, indeed farewell!

139

GUARDIAN ANGELS.

"Thousands of ministering angels walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep."

MILTON.

CHILDREN, who rosy rest

Seek on a mother's breast,

Know that above you are other arms spread;
Love, a love stronger,

Protecting you longer,

Watching your footsteps, and guarding your

Sorrow must dim your eyes,

Cares will with years arise, Ambushed around you lie many a snare;

Angels, defend your charge;

Let them not roam at large; Follow for ever to bid them beware!

Young heirs of sorrow,

Whose hope is to-morrow,

O'er you a banner of love be unfurled;
Make you a special care,

Prompting the secret prayer

"Not to release, but to keep from the world."

Body-guard holy,

To man bequeathed solely,

Vainly to see you our vision we strain;

Asking of form and face,

Shadows we seek to trace,

Stretching our arms to enfold you, in vain.

bed.