University of Virginia Library


35

2. PART SECOND.

All are Here.

(Monday morning.)

Cheerily, cheerily sound the strain—
Happily, happily met again,
Here we stand—
Who at home has dared to stay?
Who has loitered by the way?
And who for idle play
Do we miss from our band?
Merrily, merrily sound the strain,
Happily, happily met again,
All are here;
All who love the morning's prime,
All who feel the worth of time—
So we'll sound the merry chime,
All are here! all are here!

36

Be Constant in Duty.

(Tuesday morn.)

The sun goeth down,
But we feel no sorrow;
We know he will rise
As brightly to-morrow—
Why thus can we rest,
When in darkness he leaves us,
And trust to his coming?
—He never deceives us—
Never, no, never.
A lesson we read,
In brightness and beauty,
By God's finger written,
“Be constant in duty”—
And, graved on my heart,
This lesson, to guide me,
Shall ne'er be forgotten,
Whatever betide me.
Never, no, never.

37

The Lost Day.

(Wednesday morn.)

“I've lost a day,” the monarch cried,
And bowed his head in sorrow—
He never dreamed, amid his pride,
He could command the morrow;
Yet idle youth, in heedless haste
To grasp some joy untasted,
Will see a day has passed away,
Nor mourn the moments wasted.
Lost health by care we may restore,
Lost wealth by toil obtain it;
But time once lost returns no more,
Nor power nor wealth can gain it—
—The time we use, we never lose,
Its worth is sealed in heaven;
O, when this day has passed away
How will my share be given!

38

Always Happy.

(Thursday morn.)

“Always happy”—can we say
This will be a happy day,
Now but begun?
Dangers may our path surround,
Sickness seize, and sorrows wound,
Ere set of sun!
Dangers, sorrows, sickness, all
That the human race befal,
Need not alarm;
Blessings spring from grief's dark hours,
As sweet incense from the flowers,
Bowed by the storm.
Be our feelings calm and kind,
Hearts to duty's task inclined,
Thoughts free from ill;
Then in hope's glad tones we'll say,
“This will be a happy day—
Surely it will!”

39

The Present.

(Friday morn.)

For me, there's no time like the present,
—The past is too dreamy and old;
Hope's light on the future, tho' pleasant,
Like moonshine is cheating and cold.
The present, 'tis ours by life's charter,—
The terms are—“improve it for good;”
And a bird in the hand who would barter
For two flying wild in the wood?
Each day is a treasure, that Heaven
Bestows to awaken our love;
And the favors thus constantly given,
As constantly we must improve.
Then let us value the present
The past is too dreamy and old;
Hope's light on the future, tho' pleasant,
Like moonshine is cheating and cold.

40

Count the Time.

(Saturday morn.)

Why should we count our life by years,
Since years are short, and pass away?—
Or why by fortune's smiles and tears,
Since tears are vain, and smiles decay?
Then count by virtues, these will last
When life's lame-footed race is o'er,
And these, when earthly joys are past,
May cheer us on a brighter shore.
Another day, another day,
Shall this be counted in my span,
And virtue's sacred seal display
Upon the page that writes me man?

41

Good Night.

Good night—Good night—and peace be with you—
Peace, that gentlest parting strain;
Soft it falls like dew on blossoms,
Cherishing within our bosoms,
Kind desires to meet again:
Good night—Good night.
Good night—Good night—but not forever,
Hope can see the morning rise,
Many a pleasant scene before us,
As though angels hovered o'er us,
Bearing blessings from the skies:
Good night—Good night.
Good night—Good night—oh, softly breathe it!
'Tis a prayer for those we love;
Peace to-night and joy to-morrow,
For our God, who shields the sparrow,
Hears us in his courts above:
Good night—Good night.

42

Going to Sea.

Hark! hark!—'tis the signal!—
The breezes are steady,
The anchor is weighing,
And we must be ready.—
Farewell, my dear mother,
I fear thou'lt be lonely,
But, oh! do not sorrow—
I'll think of thee only.
And dread not the danger
Tho' I'm on the billow;
I know my kind Saviour
Will watch o'er my pillow:
The sea own'd his sceptre—
When its path he was treading,
The winds and the waters
Grew calm at his bidding.

43

We'll trust him, we'll trust him,
We'll pray, and he'll hear us;
On land or on water
Alike he'll be near us:
Be this song unto him
Our heart's fond devotion,
And under his guidance
I'll launch on the ocean.

44

The Little Cloud.

Two voices.

(First voice.)
—Look! look! towards the sea,
And the tidings bring to me.
(Second voice.)
—Nothing, nothing meets the eye,
Save parched earth and burning sky.
(First voice.)
—Look! look! with humble prayer;
Look seven times, and ne'er despair.
(Second voice.)
Ah! a little cloud I spy,
Like a white hand on the sky.

45

Haste! haste! for life away—
Tell the king there's no delay;
Say that little cloud contains
Promise of abundant rains.
God has pledged it—and 'tis done.—
See, thick clouds are rolling on;
Spreading, spreading black as night—
Earth and heaven are shut from sight.
But the storm, tho' wild above,
Is to man the voice of love,
Bidding famished nature live,
And his hopes with her revive.
They, who trust the King of kings,
Find each storm a blessing brings.—
Look! look, with humble prayer,—
Look to heaven, and ne'er despair.
 

See 1st Kings. Chap. 18 ver. 41 to 46.


46

The Thunder Storm.

See! the black cloud rises high—
Now it spreads along the sky—
Look! the quivering lightnings fly—
Hark! the thunders roar—
Yet I will not shrink with fear
When the thunder crash I hear:
Soon the rainbow will appear,
And the storm be o'er.
In the summer's sultry day,
When hot winds around us play,
We should sink, the fever's prey,
And revive no more:
But the dark clouds fill the skies,
And the vivid lightning flies;
Then the cooling winds arise,
And our danger 's o'er.

47

He who rules the Summer hour,
Cherishing the little flower,
He directs the lightning's power,
And the thunder's roar.
Then I will not feel alarm—
He can shield me from all harm;
In the sunshine or the storm
God I will adore.

48

The Rainbow.

O, beautiful rainbow,
All woven of light!
There's not, in thy tissue,
One shadow of night.—
It seems as heaven opened,
When thou dost appear,
And a visible presence
Of angels drew near,
And sung the rainbow,
The rainbow,
The smile of God is here.
I think, as I'm gazing,
Thy colors to mark,
How o'er the Ione mountain
Where rested the ark,
Those saved from the deluge,
With wondering eye,
Beheld the first rainbow
Burst over the sky;

49

And sung the rainbow,
The rainbow,
Thy promise, God, on high!
And thousands of ages
Have flourished and fled,
Since on the first rainbow
That promise was read.—
Man dies, and earth changes,
But still doth endure
God's signet of mercy,
Fresh, lovely, and pure,
Then sing the rainbow,
The rainbow,
The love of God is sure.

50

The Gifts of Spring.

Spring! 'tis the spell of gladness—
—We breathe that Eden word,
And in the youthful bosom
What pleasant thoughts are stirred!
Sweet thoughts of gushing fountains,
Bright skies and blossomed trees,
And soft green grass and violets,
And wild bird's melodies.
These visions warm the fancy,
And wake the lyre of mirth;
But Spring has gifts more precious
To bless the waiting earth.—
There's health upon her breezes,
The glow of life they bear;
And look upon the blossomed trees,
You'll find hope's treasure there.

51

O, tell us not of glory,
And tell us not of wealth;
Hope is the fame of youthful hearts,
Their precious riches health.—
We'll search the book of Nature,
And learn where these are found,
While Spring her gifts of buds and flowers
Is scattering all around.

52

The Garland.

(“Pleasures of Innocence.”)

Summer freely waves her garlands round—
Who would sigh for golden treasures?
Who would seek to purchase pleasures?
Summer freely waves her garlands round.
Pleasure ever must be won by toil—
'Tis the contrast of employment
Gives to idleness enjoyment—
Pleasure ever must be won by toil.
Who has earned a happy holiday?
Has improvement marked thy hours?
Then enjoy the summer flowers—
Thou hast earned a happy holiday.
Summer freely waves her garlands round—
Who will sigh for golden treasures?
Who will seek to purchase pleasures?
Summer freely waves her garland round.

53

The Harvest Time.

(“The sun parts faintly, &c.”)

Calm Autumn crowned with ripened grain,
And fruits of richest flavors,—
With notes of joy we hail again
The season of thy favors.—
Our hearts and voices strike the chime,
—The harvest time—the harvest time!
The harvest sun how bright at noon,
His richest radiance throwing!
And O, how bright the harvest moon,
As she with joy were glowing,
And fain with us would strike the chime,
The harvest time—the harvest time!
In our broad land we've every clime,
All boast some gift possessing,
And all enjoy the harvest time,
That crowns each gift a blessing—
Then let our hearts and voices raise
To God the praise—to God the praise!

54

Farewell to the Year.

Farewell, thy destiny is done,
Thy ebbing sands we tell,
Blended and set with all that's gone—
Thou dying year, farewell!
Gifts from thy hand—Spring's joyous leaves,
And Summer's breathing flowers,
Autumn's bright fruit and bursting sheaves,—
These blessings have been ours:
They pass with thee, and now they seem
Like gifts from fairy spell,
Or like some sweet remembered dream;
We bid those gifts farewell!
Tho' frail the fair, rich things of earth,
Must mind's bright hopes be frail?
And those pure thoughts that owed their birth
To thee—thus with thee fail?

55

Not if the soul but gird her might,
Her treasures guard with care.—
The storm-swelled stream, that sweeps the height,
But lays the rich mine bare.
The high resolve, the holy fear,
Waked by thy passing knell,
O, take not these, thou dying year!
We bid not these farewell.

56

One is Gone.

Gone, gone from our number,
We miss one dear face—
One voice has departed—
There's one vacant place.—
Gone, gone, and forever;
There is no return—
The absent we pray for—
The dead we must mourn;
And gathering in sadness
To-day we appear,
Each note of our music
The tone seems to bear.—
‘One is gone!’
The beam of the morning,
The bud of the Spring,
The promise of beauty
And brightness may bring;
But clouds gather darkness,
And, touched by the frost,
The pride of the plant and
The morning are lost.—

57

The bright and the lovely
Thus ever decay;
The young and the cherished
Are passing away;—
One is gone.
Gone, gone—and O, whither?
The bird on the wing,
Whose food is the flowers,
Must follow the spring;
And thus our companion,
In life's flowery time,
Has passed to the Saviour,
In that blessed clime,
Where youth blooms eternal,
And never is heard,
Its pure joys to sadden,
The earth-laden word,
‘One is gone.

58

Independence.

We come with hearts of gladness,
To breathe our songs of praise;—
Let not a note of sadness
Be blended in the lays;
For 'tis a hallowed story,
The theme of Freedom's birth;
Our father's deeds of glory
Are echoed round the earth.
The sound is waxing stronger,
And thrones and nations hear;
“Man may not triumph longer,
For God, the Lord is near—”
And He will crush oppression,
And raise the humble mind,
And give the earth's possession
Among the good and kind.

59

And then shall sink the mountains,
Where pride and power were crowned;
And peace, like gentle fountains,
Shall shed its pureness round.—
And then the world will hear us,
And join our glorious lay,
And songs of millions cheer us,
On this our Nation's Day.
Soon Freedom's loud hosannas
Shall burst from every voice,
Till mountains and savannas
Roll back the sound—‘Rejoice!’
To God, the king of heaven,
Then consecrate the strain;—
Earth's fetters will be riven,
And God the Lord will reign.

60

My Native Land.

My native land, my native land—
O 'tis a lovely land to me;
I bless my God that I was born
Where man is free.
Our land—it is a glorious land—
And wide it spreads from sea to sea—
And sister states in Union join,
And all are free.
And equal laws we all obey;
To kings we never bend the knee:—
We may not own no Lord but God,
Where all are free.
We've lofty hills and sunny vales,
And streams that roll to either sea, —
And through this large and varied land
Alike we're free.

61

You hear the sounds of healthful toil,
And youth's gay shout and childhood's glee,
And every one in safety dwells,
And all are free.
We 're brothers all, from South to North;
One bond will draw us to agree—
We love this country of our birth—
We love the free.
We love the name of Washington,
I lisped it on my father's knee;
—And we shall ne'er forget the name
While we are free.
My land, my own dear native land,
Thou art a lovely land to me;
I bless my God that I was born
Where man is free.
 

All but two millions.

Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.


62

Closing the School.

TWO VOICES.

First voice.
Like the rivers ceaseless flow,
Days, and hours, and moments go;
And the year, that endless seems
In the future's busy schemes,
Passes—it is past—the year—
What hath been its record here?
Second voice.
Not by labors we have wrought
Can we show the growth of thought;
As the plant you tend for years,
Ere its ripened fruit appears,
Thus the youthful mind must be
Nurtured long ere fruit you see.

63

First voice.
Parting is a tearful word,
Breathed in grief, in sorrow heard—
Here its cadence draws no sigh,
Its expression dims no eye—
When the closing song is o'er,
Do we part to meet no more?
Second voice.
Again, again, we meet again—
Deem not this a farewell strain—
'Tis the joy of change we hail,
When its fleeting pleasures fail,
Like tired birds that fold the wing,
Blithely here our songs we'll sing.

64

The Resting-Place.

There's many a path
At life's opening race—
But all will meet
At one Resting-Place.
Will ours be the path
Where rose-leaves spread;
Or shall we be doomed,
The thorns to tread?
Be this on each mind
A guiding truth,
To check the vain hope,
And the pride of youth.
Though afar and apart
We may urge our race,
We all shall meet
At one Resting-Place.

65

Our Father in Heaven.

Our Father in heaven,
We hallow thy name,
May thy kingdom, holy,
On earth be the same—
O, give to us, daily,
Our portion of bread!
It is from thy bounty
That all must be fed.
Forgive our transgressions,
And teach us to know
That humble compassion
Which pardons each foe—
Keep us from temptation,
From weakness and sin—
And thine shall be glory
Forever—amen!

67

The Book.

[_]

Written in the blank leaf of a Bible.

The book—thy mother sends it boy,—
And let its truths thy mind employ:
Dost ask—‘amid the world of men,
When shall I read?’—I'll tell thee when
To read the Book.
When the glad morning's early voice
Rouses the slumberer to rejoice,
And thoughts are thronging free and bright,
Till thy heart feels that ‘God is light’—
Then read the Book.

68

When night steals on, with steps of fear,
Look up—the shining stars appear:
Thus ever glorious they endure,
They 'll teach thy heart that ‘God is pure;’
Then read the Book.
When health in all thy pulses plays,
And life seems formed of joyous days,
And all around, earth, sky and flood,
Are witnessing that ‘God is good,’—
Then read the Book.
When sickness comes, with wasting power,
And bows thy head, like drooping flower,
'Mid the sharp pains thou dost endure,
Remember, ‘He who wounds can cure’—
And read the Book.
This life has blessings, nor in vain
Are these displayed for us to gain:
If thou dost win them, son, then raise
Thy thanks to Him who guides our ways,
And read the Book.

69

But griefs wait all of woman born:
Should'st thou be friendless and forlorn,
And life a weary pathway prove,
Still trust in Heaven—‘for God is love,’—
And read the Book.
There comes an hour that all must share,
When vain a mother's love and care,
The hour of death—but through the strife,
Repose on Him whose words of life
Are in the Book.

70

The Silk Worm.

There is no form upon our earth
That bears the mighty Maker's seal,
But has some charm:—to draw this forth,
We must have hearts to feel.
I saw a fair young girl—her face
Was sweet as dream of cherished friend—
Just at the age when childhood's grace
And maiden softness blend.
A silk-worm in her hand she laid,
Nor fear, nor yet disgust was stirred;
But gaily with her charge she played,
As 't were a nestling bird.
She raised it to her dimpled cheek,
And let it rest and revel there—
O, why for outward beauty seek—
Love makes its favorites fair.

71

That worm—I should have shrunk, in truth,
To feel the reptile o'er me move;
But, loved by innocence and youth,
I deemed it worthy love.
Would we, I thought, the soul imbue,
In early life, with sympathies,
For every harmless thing, and view
Such creatures formed to please:
And when with usefulness combined,
Give them our love and gentle care—
O, we might have a world as kind
As God has made it fair!
There is no form upon our earth,
Bearing the mighty Maker's seal,
But has some charm:—to call this forth
We need but hearts to feel.