Canadian Wild Flowers Part 24

Lord Jesus, hear me pray!

Oh, hear me pray!

Remove the hateful sin Which cankers all within And shrouds my way.

Oh, hear me in my anguish, My Saviour G.o.d!

I droop, I faint, I languish Beneath thy rod: I tremble on the brink, Support me or I sink: Oh, hear me while I cry; Oh, save me or I die!

FAREWELL.

We stood upon the lonely sh.o.r.e And watched the bounding bark Which far away the loved ones bore, On billows wild and dark; And then there came a gloomy sound Mournfully, mournfully stealing around-- And the sound was this, As it rose and fell O'er the broad expanse,-- _"Farewell, farewell!"_

We sought our home--once bright and fair, No word of hope we said, For Sorrow entered with us there, With slow and silent tread; And came a voice from every room Mournfully, mournfully through the gloom; And the voice was this, As it sadly fell On our aching hearts,-- _"Farewell, farewell!"_

The garden that at morn was gay, And the sequestered bower, Seemed to have wept their bloom away, All in one little hour; We heard a voice upon the breeze Sigh mournfully, mournfully through the trees, And the voice was this, As it rose and fell On the balmy air,-- _"Farewell, farewell!"_

Years, weary years have pa.s.sed us o'er Since that unhappy morn, And in our arms we clasp once more With rapture our first-born.

And thankful for our Father's care Gratefully, gratefully raise the prayer, That when life is o'er Our anthems may swell Where lips breathe no more-- Farewell, farewell!

NO MOTHER.

No mother! well, the burning tears may flow And bathe thy pillow, hapless orphan, now; No mother's tender voice may soothe thy woe, No mother's kiss is on thy aching brow.

Thou hearest footsteps pa.s.sing by the door, Oft hast thou heard thy mother's footsteps there; But ah! she comes, unhappy boy, no more To say "Good night" or hear thy evening prayer.

Weep on: there's none to wipe away thy tears, There's none on earth thy mother's place to fill; The night seems dark, but when the morn appears Darkness and gloom will be around thee still.

For thou hast lost what time can ne'er restore, What other friends, though kind, can never be; She had bright visions of a better sh.o.r.e But asked to live--it was alone for thee.

Kneel, wretched orphan, kneel beside thy bed; Thy voice is choked, thy sobs have louder grown; No mother's hand is lying on thy head, No mother's heart is lifted with thy own.

But thou canst pray, and on the Saviour's breast, Which feels for every grief and every care, Pillow thy head and sweetly sink to rest, A _more than mother_ will protect thee there.

TO A MOTHER ON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.

Mother, thy loved one slumbers now In deep, unbroken rest; But slumbers not with smiling brow Upon thy tender breast.

Oh, no! for Death with cruel dart, Unheeding anguish wild, Has rudely torn thy yearning heart, And borne away thy child.

Thy home is drear at break of day, And drear at set of sun; For, lo! the grave enwraps the clay Of thy departed one.

And vainly does thy spirit sigh, With yearnings deep and wild, To clasp once more within thy arms Thy dear, thy darling child.

Cold Death has s.n.a.t.c.hed thy lovely flower; But, lo! the day draws near, When even Death shall lose his power, And thy sweet child appear All glorious with immortal life, In Eden's garden fair.

Oh, mother, mother! would'st thou meet Thy dearly loved one there?

Oh, would'st thou join the blood-washed throng On that immortal sh.o.r.e?

Oh, would'st thou swell the Conqueror's song And greet thy child once more?

Then turn to Him who died for thee A death of woe and pain; And at the resurrection morn Embrace thy child again!

IN GOODNESS IS TRUE GREATNESS.

[The following lines were addressed to her brother on receiving a locket containing his daguerreotype.]

I touch the spring--and lo, a face Which for these many years Within my heart has had a place, A tender place--appears.

The large dark eyes look up to mine, So like thyself!--the cheek, The brow, the features, all are thine: Speak to me, brother, speak!

And tell me of each grief and care: For be they great or small, A sister's heart would take a share-- And, if it could, take all!

And tell me of each hopeful plan, And how the future seems,-- Oh, may that future to the man Be all the boy now dreams.

I've heard thee say thou wouldst be great, And with the gifted s.h.i.+ne; 'T is well; but there's a n.o.bler fate, I pray it may be thine:

It is to be an honest man,-- To elevate thy race, And like the good Samaritan Do good in every place;

To struggle bravely for the right, Though kings defend the wrong; To live as in thy Maker's sight, And in his strength be strong;

To put the spotless garment on, To keep it pure and white, And when the endless day shall dawn Receive a crown of light.

Dear brother, fame is but a breath, So I implore for thee A holy life, a happy death, A blest eternity.

SIMILES.

Beneath the snow and frost of winter there are living seeds which shall produce abundant harvests: so beneath a cold exterior there may be a heart full of high resolves and glorious impulses, which at the right season shall burst into blossom and bear precious fruit.

How often the sun rises in a cloudless sky, to be obscured before noonday! Human life is like our fickle clime: to-day all suns.h.i.+ne, and to-morrow clouds. The sun is the same by day and night, but the earth comes betwixt his light and us: so when the Sun of righteousness seems to have left our horizon and we turn in vain to the right and the left to find him, may it not be that the dark, dense earth has come betwixt us and his life-giving beams, while He remains "the same yesterday, to-day and forever"?

The thistle has a fragrant smell, and the thorn a pleasant fruit. It is a disease in the sh.e.l.l-fish that makes the pearl: so your sickness, my friend, may be the means of your winning the Pearl of great price.

What plant would thrive if the sun shone forever? and what should we be if the sun of prosperity always shone upon our pathway? Along life's dusty thoroughfare I see the world, but not as I saw it once: sickness and sorrow have given me another pair of eyes.