Follow that voice, love all, and trust to Him.
BY MRS. D. ELLEN GODMAN.
I never see a fairy girl, with health’s glow upon her cheek, and love’s light in her beaming eye; I never hear her silvery laugh, and listen to the echo of her sweet voice, but I think of the darkness of coming years. I have seen so many a beautiful thing wither and fall to the grave; I have watched the overthrow of so many earthly schemes, and noted the death of so many earthly hopes, that I tremble for the trusting, warm heart, which I know must ere long bleed over some faded dream or withered idol. I have stood by the low, calm resting-place of age, where the aged man, with his snowy locks, was sweetly sleeping; but I shed no tear over his fate. For must it not be pleasant, after a long life of care and toil, and it may be of suffering, to lie down at last in the grave, to bid adieu to a changing world, and welcome the joys of everlasting life? But my tears have watered the fresh sod beneath which slumbered the young, the gay, the beautiful. I have wept, Heaven knows how bitterly, over the blighting of youthful loveliness—over the faded wreath of earthly love. But amid all the gloom, all the decay around, there comes a soft, sweet whisper—a low, gentle breathing, as from an angel’s lips, soothing the heart, and pouring into the bleeding bosom the balm of consolation.
The following beautiful poem is taken from a volume recently published in London, entitled, “Poems by a Sempstress,” and has never been reprinted in this country. It possesses great merits, and if the authorship be authentic, is certainly a remarkable production.
THE DREAMER.
Not in the laughing bowers,
Where, by green twining arms, a pleasant shade,
A summer-noon is made;