The Orphan.
I love 'mid those green mounds to stray
Where purple violets creep,
For there the village children say
That both my parents sleep.
Bright garlands there I often make
Of thyme and daisies fair,
And when my throbbing temples ache,
I go and rest me there.
If angry voices harshly chide,
Or threatening words are said,
I love to lay me by their side
Close in that silent bed.
I wish'd a sportive lamb to bide
My coming o'er the lea.
It broke away and bleating cried,
"My mother waits for me."
"Stay, stay, sweet bird!" On pinion strong
It fled with dazzling breast,
And soon I heard its matron song
Amid its chirping nest.
"Why dost thou fade, young bud of morn,
And hide thy drooping gem?"
And the bud answered, "They have torn
Me from my parent stem."
Go happy warbler to thy bower,
White lambkin, gambol free,
I'll save this lone and wither'd flower,
It seems to pity me.
"Come mother, come! and soothe thy child!"
Methinks I hear her sigh,
"Cold clods are on my bosom pil'd,
And darkness seals my eye."
She cannot burst the chain of fate
By which her limbs are pressed.
"Dear father rise! and lift the weight
That loads my mother's breast."
In vain I speak, in vain the tear
Bedews the mouldering clay,
My deep complaint they do not hear,
I may not longer stay.
Yet ere I go, I'll kneel and say
The humble prayer they taught,
When by their side at closing day
I breath'd my infant thought.
God will not leave my heart to break,
The Orphan He'll defend,
Father and mother may forsake,
But He's the Unchanging Friend.
The Only Son.
How deep and full of anxiety is the love that centres upon an only child, none but parents who have watched over such an one can realise. "We trusted our all to one frail bark," says a touching epitaph, "and the wreck was total."
Those who have neither brother nor sister, and feel the whole tenderness of parental affection centring in themselves, should strive to render in proportion to what they receive. The care and solicitude that might have been divided among other claimants is reserved for them alone. No common measure of obedience and gratitude, and love, seems to be required of them. Any failure in filial duty is, in them, an aggravated offence. It should be the study of their whole life to appreciate, if they cannot repay, the wealth of love of which they are the sole heirs.
Perhaps there has never been an instance, where this sweet indebtedness of the heart was more beautifully and perfectly reciprocated, than in the life of Joshua Rowley Gilpin. He was the only son of the Rev. J. Gilpin, of Wrockwardine, in the county of Salop, England, and born January 30th, 1788. During infancy, when the texture of character slowly, yet surely discovers itself, he displayed a mild, loving disposition, with no propensity to anger when what he desired was withheld. The sole care of his education was assumed by his parents, who found it a source of perpetually increasing delight.
His first infantine taste was for drawing. To imitate the forms of animals, and other objects with which he was daily conversant, gave him much pleasure. His friends discovered in these rude attempts, accuracy of execution, and progressive improvement. A dissected alphabet was among his toys, and a desire to furnish his little drawings with appropriate letters induced him to make himself master of it. Now a new field of pleasure opened to his mind, and from the amusements of the pencil he turned to the powers and combination of the letters; and at the age when many children are unacquainted with their names, he was forming them into phrases and short sentences. These were sometimes playful, and sometimes of such a devotional cast, that his watchful and affectionate parents cheered themselves with the hope that his tender spirit was even then forming an acquaintance with things divine. So docile, so industrious, so gentle was the young pupil, that they had never occasion to resort to punishment, or even to address to him an expression of displeasure.