ust,
Is still in Him whose works and ways are just.
Oh! may we still revere His dread command,
And die remembered in our native land!

* * * * *

THE BLIND GRANDFATHER.

1 Though grandfather has long been blind,
And his few locks are gray,
He loves to hear the summer wind
Round his pale temples play.

2 We'll lead him to some quiet place,
Some unfrequented nook,
Where winds breathe soft, and wild-flowers grace
The borders of the brook.

3 There he shall sit, as in a dream,
Though nought can he behold,
Till the brook's murmuring flow shall seem
The voice of friends of old.

4 Think no more of them, aged man,
For here thou hast no friend;
Think, since this life is but a span,
Of joys that have no end.

* * * * *

THE OLD LABOURER.

1 Are you not tired, you poor old man!
The drops are on your brow;
Your labour with the sun began,
And you are labouring now!

2 I murmur not to dig the soil,
For I have heard it read,
That man by industry and toil
Must eat his daily bread.

3 The lark awakes me with his song,
That hails the morning gray,
And when I mourn for human wrong,
I think of God, and pray.

4 Let worldlings waste their time and health,
And try each vain delight;
They cannot buy, with all their wealth,
The labourer's rest at night.

* * * * *

THE SWAN.

1 Look at the swan! how still he goes!
His neck and breast like silver gleam;
He seems majestic as he rows;
The glory of the lonely stream.

2 There is a glory in the war,
A glory when the warrior wears
(His visage marked with many a scar)
The laurel wet with human tears.

3 Such scenes no glory can impart,
With trumps, and drums, and noises rude,
Like that which fills his silent heart
Who walks with God in quietude.

* * * * *

THE VILLAGE BELLS.

1. Who does not love the village bells,
Their cheerful peal, and solemn toll!
_One_ of the rustic wedding tells,
And _one_ bespeaks a parting soul.

2 The lark in sunshine sings his song,
And, dressed in garments white and gay,
The village lasses trip along,
Fo