THE GOLDEN GIFT. My Native Land, -My Native Place, My thoughts are in my native land, Where sunny shrubs disperse their scent, And raise their blossoms high to heaven, As if in calm acknowledgment For brilliant hues and virtues given. My thoughts are with my youthful days, And pleasure with the daylight came. I bent the rushes to my feet, And sought the water's silent flow, I culled the violet in the dell, Whose wild-rose gave a chequered shade, And listened to each village bell, So sweet by answering echo made. In God's own house, on God's own day, Thus memory, from her treasured urn, Thus scenes turn up and palely burn, And still my soul shall these command, My heart is in my native place. ANON. Remember Me. Remember me when not a cloud of sorrow Its shadow flings across my sunny way; When all is bright, and Hope bespeaks the morrow As undisturbed and happy as to-day; When throbs my heart with pleasure, and its fountain Is sending forth a stream of joy and love; And clothes in beauty, every vale and mountain, And all the glowing canopy above. But when a tear is starting, and a sadness And scenes that once were beautiful, are dreary, And when my soul has struggled till 't is weary ;- W. A. SLEEPER. Home of my Youth. How well I remember My boyhood's sweet home! How oft in my sadness Its memories come! For there with the beings On earth I loved best, I lived but too happy, Too happy to last. I remember the cot, So peaceful and still, So sweetly it stood, on The green sloping hill: The hill where I oft, 'neath The spreading oak's shade, From morning till sunset, Have gamboled and played. The silvery brook, that Went wandering through The mossy green mead, where The strawberries grew, The garden, the orchard, The grove, and the lane, Are all, all still fresh, In memory's chain. |