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Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you;
Clar. O, Brakenbury, I have done these things,
-I pray thee, gentle keeper, stay by me;
GERTRUDE M. DOWNEY.
One stormy night;
My home and its light.
I stand all alone;
All hope is gone!
That circle my feet;
My own heart's wild beat.
Too faithless and vain,
Till mercy is past,
Leaves me at last!"
Cleaving the sky,
Look thou above,
The child of His love.
But herald the light;
Where, then, were thy night?
So arid and drear;
Why did'st thou fear?
God gave thee His promise to keep thee,
He cannot deceive;
Bidding thee ‘Live!'
What more could He give?"
That stormy night, With the peace and the joy of believing,
Came inward light, And my lips sent a prayer for forgiveness
Up to His throne: “Forgive me, my Father, I measured
Thy love by my own!”
78.–BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
The darkness of her scenery.
To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
79.—THE VILLAGE PREACHER.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich, with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place. Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour: Fár other aims his heart had learned to prizeMore bent to raise the wretched, than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train ; He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain. The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast : The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed : The broken soldier, kindly bid to stay, Sat by his fire, and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave, ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side : But, in his duty prompt at every call. He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all : And, as a bird, each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
80.-DRIVING HOME THE COWS.
KATE P. OSGOOD.
He turned them into the river lane;
Then fastened the meadow bars again.
He patiently followed their sober pace;
And something shadowed the sunny face.
He never could let his youngest go:
Under the feet of the trampling foe.
And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp,
And stealthily followed the footpath damp.
With resolute heart and purpose grim,
And the blind bats flitting startled him.
Thrice since then had the lanes been white,
And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom;
The feeble father drove them home.
That three were lying where two had lain;
Would never lean on a son's again.
He went for the cows when the work was done;
He saw them coming, one by one:
Shaking their horns in the evening wind;
But who was it following close behind ?
The empty sleeve of army blue;
Looked out a face that the father knew.
And yield their dead unto life again:
In golden glory at last may wane.
For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb:
Together they followed the cattle home.
81.–SACRED SCRIPTURES. Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the