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And when thy soul, from trammels free,

Is soaring to the spirit's home, Think of me, - pray for me, - for me!

ANONYMOUS.

THE RISING EAGLE.

My bird, the struggle's over!

Thy wings at length unfurled, Will bear thee, noble rover !

Through yon blue airy world. Thy fearless breast has shaken

Earth's dew and dust away ;

Thine eye its aim has taken;

Its mark the orb of day.

Up, up! the faster leaving

Thy rocky nest below,
A fresher strength receiving,

The lighter shalt thou go.
The clouds that now hang o'er thee

Thou soon shalt over-sweep, Where all is bright before thee,

To swim the upper deep.

Through seas of ether sailing,

Thou lofty, valiant one! The breath of morn inhaling,

Thy course is to the sun!

The strife was all in lifting

Thy breast from earth, at first, The poising, and the shifting,

To balance, was the worst.

And so with us; — 'tis spreading

Our pinions for the skies,
That keeps us low, and dreading

The first essay to rise.
”Tis rousing up, and getting

Our balance, that we shun: With thousand ties besetting,

We shrink from breaking one.

But when we've fairly started,

And cleared from all below, How free and buoyant-hearted,

On eagle-wings we go!

And as our bosoms kindle

With pure and holy love, How all below will dwindle,

And all grow bright above !

The world that we are leaving

Looks little in our sight,
While, clouds and shadows cleaving,

We seek the Source of Light!
Rise, timid soul, and casting

Aside thy doubt and fear, Mount up, where all is lasting ;

For all is dying here!

Then, as an eagle training

Her tender young to fly,
A Hand, that's all-sustaining,

Will lift thee to the sky.
While higher, higher soaring,

Thou’lt feel thy cares are drowned, Where Heaven's bright Sun is pouring

A flood of glory round!

H. F. GOULD.

THE SLEEPING CHILD.

A BROOK went dancing on its way,

From bank to valley leaping;
And by its sunny margin lay

A lovely infant sleeping.
The murmur of the purling stream

Broke not the spell that bound him, Like music breathing in his dream

A lullaby around him.

It is a lovely sight, to view,

Within this world of sorrow,

One spot which still retains the hue

That earth from Heaven may borrow! And such was this, -a scene so fair,

Arrayed in summer brightness, And one pure being resting there,

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One soul of radiant whiteness !

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