Yes, mighty Ocean! all thy storms
Shall lull to perfect peace; And all thy weary monotones,
With rhythms sad shall cease. So now, we stand upon thy brink;
Whilst 'yond thy sparkling foam, We hear sweet voices calling us
To our eternal home.
["I GAVE HIM AN ORANGE."]
FROM DR. CONROY'S EVIDENCE.
Beside the lowly couch of pain,
They watched the flickering breath; They knew that mortal skill was vain
To stem the tide of death.
For ruthless hands, and heart impure,
Though unprovoked by strife, Had aimed the missive all too sure
Which dulled the warm young life.
When skill had failed, love took its place;
The little gift was given; One moment's brightness lit the face,
And life from death seemed riven.
Oh! deep within each mother's soul
This deed of love shall tell; While He who made the wounded whole,
Such acts He noteth well.
Yea, Who the reins of right doth hold
'Yond tortuous frauds of time, Sees brazen vice, ungilt by gold,
And poverty no crime.
He shall adjudge in righteousness,
And sickness, woe and dearth, With mammon fall; and Heaven's own bliss
Outweigh the wrongs of earth.