The smile of heaven rests upon the happy household, and it is invoked by the voice of ardent prayer, and the family kneel together around the family altar, and the rich, deep-toned voice of Henry offers up the morning and evening sacrifice, rendering praise and thanksgiving to the giver of every good and perfect gift.
The Child.
Laughing child of the noble brow,
Whither, say, whither comest thou?
I've been wandering long in sunlit bow'rs,
Chasing butterflies and flow'rs;
And this bright garland round my hair,
Is one that I've been twining there.Happy child of the garland gay,
Whither wanderest thou to play?
I've been floating bubbles on silver streams:
Printing the sand with golden dreams;
I've wandered widely all the day,
And feel much wearied with my play.Gentle child of the languid brow,
What is this comes o'er thee now?
My wearied limbs are filled with pain,
A scorching fever burns my brain;
Hope dances not before my eyes,
But only points beyond the skies.Wasted child of the marble brow,
Mysterious death steals o'er thee now.
How pale and ghastly is thy cheek,
Thy quiv'ring lips refuse to speak;
Fluttering and pausing comes thy breath:--
It ceases now, thou 'rt cold in death.There hangs the wreath which yesterday,
Like thee, was blooming bright and gay;
Emblem still, its leaves are dead,
Their colors gone, their beauty fled;
But withered roses shed perfume,
That live beyond the mould'ring tomb.Happy child of the angel brow,
Brighter wreaths entwine thee now;
Thy paths are spread thro' fairer bow'rs,
Adorned with amaranthine flow'rs,
And ever happy thou wilt be,
Thro' a blest eternity.But I must bid thee farewell now,
Beautiful child of the death cold brow.
Lines, Written on the Death of Ellen A---- B----.
Could infant grace and beauty's bloom
Turn fate's decrees aside,
Death had not borne her to the tomb,--
Thy Ellen had not died.But God, in mercy, from his throne
Looks down, on earth below,
And plucks from thence, to be his own,
The fairest flowers that grow.What once was clay, suff'ring, distress'd,
Subject to pain and ire,--
A happy spirit, with the bless'd,
Now tunes a seraph's lyre.One little lock of silken hair
Is all that's to thee given;--
The rest lies buried deep in earth,--
The soul with God in heaven.The night winds sigh around her grave,
The night dews there descend;
And there the tears of anguish lave
Thy pallid cheeks, my friend.But, oh! forbear, nor let thy tears,
Drop on this mould'ring sod;--
Reflect, 'tis dust that slumbers here,
The spirit's with its God.For ere her fragile life had closed,
What blissful hopes were given;--
Those parted lips and beaming eyes
Spake less of earth than heaven,And soon thy dream of life will close,--
Its hopes and joys be o'er;
In death's cold arms thy limbs repose,--
Thy soul to glory soar.And then, perhaps, this cherub form,
From sin so soon set free,
May, with a daughter's greeting warm,
Be first to welcome thee.Perhaps, the joys on earth denied,
In full fruition given,
May more abundant be supplied,
For rip'ning thus, in heaven.Perhaps, 'mid splendor spread around,
Which thou shalt see, and hear,
Mother, may be the sweetest sound
That strikes thy ravished ear.Then do not mourn those early called
To yonder blissful sky,--
They drink full draughts of living bliss,
From founts that never dry.
The Order of Nature.
The strictest harmony and order pervade nature in all her works. She is governed by laws and regulations which the nicest art may attempt in vain to imitate. If we contemplate the azure sky, with all its glittering host of golden stars, and watch them as they run their nightly course through the boundless fields of ether, we shall readily perceive they are led by a systematic hand.
The sun, as he unlocks the rosy gates of the east, and comes forth to run his glad journey across the sky, diffusing light and warmth upon the vegetable world beneath, moves with the utmost regularity, giving to each succeeding year, "the seasons and their changes."
The gentle moon, as she sheds her borrowed light from the blue chambers of the sky, throwing her silver mantle overnight's sable form, performs her varied evolutions without "variableness or shadow of turning." Every planet and every star has its fixed place assigned it, and even the fiery comet has its appointed orbit, and the man of science can tell the exact time of its appearance, and the course it will run, and now it is accounted for by the laws of nature, rather than regarded as a fearful herald of war or devastation; and even the meteor flash, that glares for a moment and then disappears forever, is awakened into action by the density of the atmosphere, and regulated by the same common laws.
The portentous thunder clouds that emit the vivid lightning's flash, and the deep-toned thunder reverberating through the sky, speak of the sublimity of their Author, and perform their destined missions of purifying the air and increasing the health of man.