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For he was thin and pale, drooping and weak,
grew, But round his feeble body fondly threw Her clasping arms, and held him to her heart. Alas! but they were doomed again to part : For that stern man stood by, and thence he drove Her in the anguish of her outraged love; Nor would grant more unto her earnest prayer, Than that the boy should have her nightly careet only in his slumber. From that night he watched him in his sleep; with fingers light ressing his little hands, or his tbick hair Parting from his wbite brow with tender care : ,nd every night, within his hand, she placed
bead from off the rosary at her waist. But still the child grew thinner and more pale,
And restless were his slumbers; and quick sighs, As if a wearying pain did him assail,
Fluttered his breath with dreamy agonies; And his pale, drooping mother by him prayed That God would ease his pain, and be his aid.
• The last bead had been given the night before,
And the rich crucifix to her lips was prest One morn, when Maffei oped the chamber door,
And saw the dead child laid upon her breast : She too was dead and Maffei down the stair
Rushed like a maniac; and the menials said, So terrible his gestures and his air,
That he had seen more than the silent dead. From that day forth, like a dim, blasted thing,
He dwelt alone, and darker grew his fate : It seemed as if a horrid curse did cling
Unto him, with a fierce avenging hate
Linking him to life; and year on year passed by,
And he was old and feeble, and was known Whole days to kneel, praying that he might die.
His generation vanished one by one,
Cursing himself, in his dark tottering age;
And the next day we journeyed on to Rome,
And laid my gentle mother in her tomb.
Bright seraphs dispatch'd from the throne,
Thy worship no interval knows,
When musing sorrow weeps the past,
And mourns the present pain, How sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain!
'Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,
And dread a Father's will; "Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still.
It is that heaven-taught faith surveys,
The paths to realms of light;
And lose herself in sight.
It is that hope with ardour glows,
To see him face to face,
Sufficient art to trace.
The pangs of struggling sin;
And ends her war within.
I'rom earth-born woe and care;
My Saviour's bliss to share.
[REV. R. MANT.)
Welcome thou peaceful dawn!
O'er field and wooded lawn
And hark! the village bell!
Whose simple tinklings swell, Sweet as soft music, on the straw-roof'd shed, And bid the pious cottager prepare To keep the appointed rest, and seek the house of pray'r.
How goodly 'tis to see
The rustic family
The mother trim and plain
Leading her ruddy train, The father pacing slow with modest air. With honest heart and humble guise they come, To serve Almighty God, and bear his blessing home.
At home they gaily share
Their sweet and simple fare,
Around the blazing hearth
They sit in harmless mirth, Or turn with awe the volume of the Lord : Then full of heav'nly joy retiring pay Their sacrifice of pray’r to Him who bless'd the day.
O Sabbath bell, thy voice
Makes hearts like these rejoice ; Not so the child of vanity and pow'r:
He the best pavement treads
Perchance as custom bids, Perchance to gaze away a listless hour; Then crowns the bowl, or scours along the road, Nor hides his shame from men, nor heeds the eye of
When the seventh morning's gleam
Purpled the lonely stream,
The hand adoring spread,
And broke the mystic bread;
In vain the Roman lord
Way'd the relentless sword,
In vain the heathen sought,
If chance some lurking spot Might mar the lustre of the Christian name; T'h' Eternal Spirit, by his fruits confess’d, In life secur’d from stain, and steel'd in death the breast.