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When one by one each human sound
Dies on the awful ear,
Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, She speaks, and we must hear.
Then pours she on the Christian heart
Just guessing, through their murky blind,
Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise,
They marked what agonizing throes
Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast
The hour that saw from opening heaven Redeeming glory stream,
Beyond the summer hues of even,
FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire,
The rod of heaven has touched them all,
"The God who hallowed thee, and blest,
"Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft,
His blessed home in heaven hath left
Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still
Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold,
Hence all thy groans and travail-pains;
In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains,
IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. — Burns.
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that?
Our toil 's obscure, and a' that;
What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Their tinsel show, and a' that,
Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
His riband, star, and a' that,
He looks and laughs at a' that !
A king can mak' a belted knight,
But an honest man 's aboon his might,
THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.
For a' that, and a' that,
Then let us pray that come it may,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
It 's comin' yet, for a' that,
THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT.- Blackwood's Magazine.
OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade
Of Windsor Forest's deepest glade
A dying woman lay;
Three little children round her stood,
"O mother! ,,
And leave us all alone."
My blessed babes!" she tried to say,
And then life struggled hard with death,
And peering through the deep wood's maze With a long, sharp, unearthly gaze,
"Will he not come ?" she said.
Just then, the parting boughs between,
"Mother!" the little maiden cried,
They told me here, they told me there, I think they mocked me everywhere; And when I found his home,
And begged him on my bended knee
"I told him how you dying lay,
And could not go in peace away
I begged him, for dear Christ his sake,
my heart was fit to break, Mother! he would not stir.
"So, though my tears were blinding me, I ran back fast as fast could be,
To come again to you;
And here close by this squire I met, Who asked (so mild !) what made me fret; And when I told him true,