"But the wretched soul, that darts Wounding loved and loving hearts, "None his hasty speech forgives, None suspects his mental strife; Thanks to Heaven, one Being lives Who can judge the inward life." S. C. EDGARTON. "Weep for yourselves, and for your Children." We mourn for those who TOIL, A host of restless phantoms chase, - We mourn for those who SIN, Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn, But why in sorrow should we mourn For those who sin no more? We mourn for those who weep, Whom stern afflictions bend But they to whom the sway Of pain and grief is o'er, Whose tears our God hath wiped away, Oh! mourn for them no more! MRS. SIGOURNEY. Sonnet. As on a hill-top rude, when closing day So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare, May. Though many suns have risen and set Delicious odors! music sweet, Oh! for a deathless song to meet That, when a thousand years are told, Earth, sea, thy presence feel, - nor less, With its soft smile the truth express, The heavens have felt it too. The inmost heart of man, if glad, Partakes a livelier cheer; And eyes that cannot but be sad, Let fall a brightened tear. Since thy return, through days and weeks Of hope that grew by stealth, How many wan and faded cheeks Have kindled into health! The old, by thee revived, have said, And way worn wanderers, poorly fed, Who tripping lisps a merry song The tender infant who was long But now, when every sharp-edged blast His mother leaves him free to taste Thy help is with the weed that creeps But most on some peculiar nook That our own hands have dressed, Thou, and thy train are proud to look, And seem to love it best. |