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INVOCATION.

"Are they not all ministering spirits?"

BY MISS H. J. WOODMAN.

COME to me, come! I need your presence now,
In this my darkened hour!

Unto the idols of the world I bow,

And their chill shadows rest upon my brow,
Shrouding the beams of Heaven's eternal light,
With the gray mantle of earth's sombre night,
And bending to their power

Thoughts which should know no fetters but the will
Of Him who bids ambition's wave be still!

Come to me, come! the weak and sorely tried
Asks now your guardian care!

In hope's rich garland flowers have drooped and died,
Idols have fallen from their place of pride;
My heart has learned distrust, and throws around
Its holiest feelings, mysteries profound!

Hushed is the voice of prayer,

Or its low breathings need the buoyant wing

Of earnest faith o'er earth's thick clouds to spring!

Come to me, come! for o'er my spirit sweep
Visions of other years;

And soft hands clasp my own, and eyes that weep
Look into mine love's harvest-fruits to reap;
And voices, long since hushed, pronounce my name
With mournful tenderness, and feed the flame
Shining through many tears;

And struggling ever with the shades of earth,
Proclaiming thus its high, angelic birth!

Come to me, come! in the sweet hush of morn,
Or tranquil hour of eve,

Whene'er my heart with doubt and grief is torn,
Whene'er a heavenly hope for me is born,
Come on your noiseless wings, confirm the bliss
Found even in a saddened world like this!
Your peace around me leave,

Ambassadors of God! and tune your lyres
To strains undying love alone inspires!

BOSTON, MASS.

THE GOOD OLD COUNTRY FIRESIDE.

BY T. B. READ.

THE good old country fireside!
It is a place of mirth;
Three generations, old and young,
Sit round the blazing hearth.

The old man in the corner sits,
With eyes fixed on the blaze;
His cheeks are glowing with the flame,
And thoughts of bygone days.

The good wife, sitting opposite,
Her knitting-needle plies;
And kitty 's playing with the ball
That's twice the kitten's size.

A moment more, the corn is brought,
And in the ashes cast;

A moment more, the children shout

To see it popping fast.

Now round the hearth, convulsed with mirth,
They gather, large and small;

THE GOOD OLD COUNTRY FIRESIDE. 29

With louder glee one shouts to see
A profile on the wall.

But who sit in yon corner's shade?
Why, sure, 't is John and May!
Why flits a blush across May's cheek,
If one but looks that way?

Ah, May has sure a tender heart,
And Love will have his sway;
He's warmed full many a colder heart
Than throbs in breast of May.

Her lover is no dashing blade,
With foppish airs put on,
But is, in truth, a gentle youth-
An honest farmer's son.

The good old country fireside!
When winter chills the grove,
The good old country fireside
Is then the place for love.

Kate hears a step, she knows it, too;
Her husband now has come

To guide her and the children safe
Across the bleak heath, home.

Yet ere they go, the old Bible
Is taken from its place;

A chapter 's read; the old man's prayers
Approach the Throne of Grace.

The good old country fireside!
It is a place of prayer;
Three generations, old and young,
Enjoy rich blessings there.

BOSTON, JANUARY, 1843.

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