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They had told him tales of the sunny lands
That rose over Indian seas,
And strange fruit bent the trees;
Now,—that fruit and the river gems were near,
But the voice of promise that thrilled in his ear,
And the hope he had chased, 'mid the wilds of night
Had melted away like a firefly's light.
Oh I have watched him gazing long
Where the homeward vessels lay,
And wiping his tears away.
There was a 'worm i' the bud,' whose fold
Defied the leech's art,
A tale of a broken heart.
He died—but memory's wizard power
With its ghostlike train had come
And he murmured ' borne, home, home!'
Oh talk of Spring to the trampled flower,
Of light to the fallen star,
Lay cold on the fields of war;
A. B. P.
I used to love thee, simple flower,
But now thou only mock'st my grief,
For that ne'er tells of what has been,
I love thee not, thou simple flower,
I asked an aged man,—a man of cares,—
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed,
'Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode.''
I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins,—' Time,' he replied,
'I've lost it! Ah I the treasure!' and he died.
I asked the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years; .
They answered, ' Time is but a meteor glare,'
And bade me for eternity prepare.
I asked the seasons, in their annual round,
Which beautify or desolate the ground;
And they replied, (no oracle more wise,)
'Tis folly's blank, and wisdom's highest prize.'
I asked a spirit lost—but, Oh! the shriek
That pierced my soul—I shudder while I speak!
It cried, ' A particle—a speck—a mite
Of endless years—duration infinite!'
Of things inanimate,—my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply,
'Time is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory, or the road to hell.';
I asked my Bible, and methought it said,
'Time is the present hour, the past is fled,—
Live, live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set.'
I asked old Father Time, himself, at last,
Rev. Joshua Marsdtn.
ON RECEIVING INTELLIGENCE OF
A YOUNG FRIENDS DEATH IN INDIA.
Little grief disturbed our breasts that hour,
When from thee, my friend! we parted;
For Hope stood by, heart-soothing power!
And wiped off the tears that started.
Yes! she bade us check the bursting tears,
Some joyful morrow, when safe to home,