THE GLOW-WORM.
1 Oh, what is this which shines so bright,
And in the lonely place
Hangs out his small green lamp at night,
The dewy bank to grace!
2 It is a glow-worm, still and pale
It shines the whole night long,
When only stars, O nightingale,
Seem listening to thy song!
3 And so amid the world's cold night,
Through good report or ill,
Shines out the humble Christian's light,
As lonely and as still.
THE CONVICT.
Luke Andrews is transported! Never more
To see his sisters, mother, or the shore
Of his own country! Never more to see
The cottage smoke rise o'er the sheltering tree;
Never again beneath the morning beam,
Jocund, to drive afield his tinkling team!
When first the path of idleness he trod,
And left on Sabbath-days the house of God,
The fellowship of wild companions kept,
How oft at night his mother waked and wept!
When he is homeless, and far off at sea,
She now will sigh, Does he remember me!
Remember her! alas, the thought is vain!
She ne'er will see him in this world again.
And she is broken-hearted; but her trust,
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!