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Mhe. The District School Journal, :strict Cacharel Tanenol | And morn with oriental lovliness adorned the many bills,
And Beauty's gorgeous, rośy smiles played on the silvery Is published monthly, and is devoted exclusively to the promotion of Popular Education.
sparkling rills. SAMUEL S. RANDALL, EDITOR.
A rich and royal robe, of gold and purple, softly fell TERMS--Single copies 50 cents ; seven copies $3,00; twelve Enwrapping in its folds of light, the forest wood and dell. copies $5,00; twenty-five copies $10,00, payable always in The Nile's prond waters consed their wra
The Nile's proud waters ceased their wrath, and sported advance.
in the summer breeze, GF All letters and communications intended for the District School Journal, should be directed to the Editor, Alba- As golden light stole through the rich green drapery of vy, N. Y., Post Paid.
the forest trees, Printed by E. P. ALLEN, at the Office of the Merchant's Sweet music on the soft gale came from perfumed vine and & Tradesman's Journal, No. 9 Spruce St., New-York.
Like spirit voices from Elysian's bright and rosy bower. ORIGINAL POETRY.
With sweet and holy charm those strains upon Wyoma's
spirit fell, THE HEBREW MOTHER'S SACRIFICE. And did with angel soothings each wild despair and sor
row quell. "There's none in this cold, hollow world, no fount Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within
Tranquilly she gazed upon the fairest woodland beauties A mother's breast."
And thought how blest a thing for her fair child in this In ebon folds of pale and glim’ring light,
gay time to die. Night's drapery o'er the sleeping earth was thrown;
Low on the moss-spread bank she knelt and bowed at the And hung on Nile's dark waters low and still ;
blest throne of prayer, And rested on the deep, thick forest tree,
And sweet and clear her voice was borne on morning's With gloomy darkness.
balmy air. Alone, upon a cliff that overlooked A yawning precipice, Wyoma stood,
E'en while the orison divine was breathed, And gazed steadfastly, with a soul·lit eye, .
The child slept in its rosy innocence; Into those dark blue waters that flowed fast.
And as the soft wind through the lattice stole, Her heart was sorrowful and well nigh crushed
st kissed her brow,and waved her tresses, Beneath its heavy bitterness of grief.
That lay in jetty wealth upon her breast, Hither she came, at this lone midnight hour,
Like tasseled branches in the glad sunlight. To bold sweet converse with her Spirit-God,
She woke, and angel beauty robed her face. That she inight be prepared to meet her doom.
Like moss-buds opening to the morning's dawn, In vain she bent her listening ear below,
So ope'd her eyes of azure.hue, deep-fringed As though she thought to catch some soothing tone;
With wealth of snowy lids. Light she bounded All desolate and wild the night-wind moaned
From white robed couch, for she did early miss Amid the dark thick forest ; and as it stirred
Her mother's breathings soft, and tender clasp, The proud tall woodland pines, and tossed the wave,
And gazed without her vine-clad window, down It chilled her brow, as 'twere the hand of death.
The woodland dell; but the thick foliage shut Still on, the waters o'er the rocks below,
In her view. Then nature led her steps. Dashed angrily, as though impatiently
She joyous passed the low'ry mead and glen, They waited for their rich and promised boon;
'Till through the jessamine and the myrtle vine And from beneath those troubled waves there came
Which wreathed the forest trees, she saw the well A voice that murmured fearfully and wild.
Known form. In all the fondness of her deep It said, that ere the morrow's sun goes down,
And loving soul, she gladly fell upon Thy child, thy only child, shall be no more !
Her mother's breast, and as she kissed her pale, Like winter's stern and icy breath that binds
Soft cheek, she felt a tear fall from above. The waters dancing in their mirth and glee ;
She earnest gazed into Wyoma's eyes, E'en so that tempest dirge with fiercer power .
And in childish accent wondered what Sealed up the deepest fountain of her soul;
Should make the flowers to weep, for she till now And e'en like harp-strings, broken by some rude,
Had never seer, a tear, save from her own Unwelcome blast, so died the music of
Bright eye. Her heart away, as day's first dawn lit up
The saddened day passed slowly on, and sun : The spot that claimed her priceless grant.
Sank low. The hour, the fearful hour drew nigh: