Heaven sends misfortunes-why should we repine?
'Tis Heaven has brought me to the state you see:
And your condition may be soon like mine,
The child of sorrow and of misery.
A little farm was my paternal lot,
Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn;
But ah! oppression forced me from my cot;
My cattle died, and blighted was my corn.
My daughter-once the comfort of my age!
Lured by a villain from her native home,
Is cast, abandoned, on the world's wide stage,
And doomed in scanty poverty to roam.
My tender wife-sweet soother of my care!
Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree,
Fell-lingering fell, a victim to despair,
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old man!
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span;
Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
92. A SKETCH FROM A PAINTER'S STUDIO.
A TRIPPING, fair, light-hearted girl,
Not yet the ripened woman quite,
Whose cheerful mirth and thoughtful love
Light up the cottage with delight,
And with a thousand gentle ways,
With pleasure brim her parents' days.
93. BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST.
We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,—
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.
So we shuddered there in silence,-
For the stoutest held his breath;
While the hungry sea was roaring,
And the breakers talked with death.
As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy in his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted
As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand-
"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land ?”
Then we kissed the little maiden,
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbour
When the morn was shining clear.
THE best revenge is love :
Anger with smiles; heal wounds with balm;
Give water to thy thirsting foc;
The sandal-tree, as if to prove
How sweet to conquer hate by love,
Perfumes the axe that lays it low.
THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.
95. THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.
"OH, brother," said fair Annie,
To the blind boy at her side;
"Would thou could'st see the sunshine lie
On hill and valley, and the sky
Hung like a glorious canopy
O'er all things far and wide!
"Would thou could'st see the waters
In many a distant glen;
The mountain flocks that graze around;
Nay, even this patch of stony ground,
These crags, with silver lichen crowned,
I would that thou could'st ken!
"Would thou could'st see my face, brother,
As well as I see thine;
For always what I cannot see
It is but half a joy to me.
Brother, I often weep for thee,
Yet thou dost ne'er repine."
"And why should I repine, Annie?"
Said the blind boy with a smile;
"I ken the blue sky and the grey;
The sunny and the misty day;
The moorland valley stretched away
For many and many a mile.
"Iken the night and day, Annie,
For all ye may believe;
And often in my spirit lies
A clear light as of mid-day skies;
And splendours on my vision rise,
Like gorgeous hues of eve.
THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.
I sit upon the stone, Annie,
Beside our cottage door,
And people say, that boy is blind,'
And pity me, although I find
A world of beauty in my mind,
A never-ceasing store.
"I hear you talk of mountains,
The beautiful, the grand;
Of splintered peaks so grey and tall;
Of lake, and glen, and waterfall;
Of flowers and trees;-I ken them all ;-
Their difference understand.
"The harebell and the gowan
Are not alike to me,
Are different as the herd and flock,
The blasted pine-tree of the rock,
The waving birch, the broad green oak,
The river, and the sea.
"And, oh, the heavenly music,
That as I sit alone,
Comes to mine inward sense as clear
As if the angel-voices were
Singing to harp and dulcimer,
Before the mighty Throne !
"It is not as of outward sound
Of breeze, or singing bird;
But wondrous melody refined;
A gift of God unto the blind;
An inward harmony of mind,
By inward senses heard.
THE BLIND BOY AND HIS SISTER.
"And all the old-world stories,
That neighbours tell o'nights;
Of fairies on the fairy mound,
Of brownies dwelling under ground,
Of elves careering round and round,
Of fays and water-sprites ;
"All this to me is pleasantness,-
Is all a merry show;
I see the antic people play,-
Brownie and kelpie, elf and fay,
In a sweet country far away,
Yet where I seem to go.
"But better far than this, Annie,
Is when thou read'st to me
Of the dear Saviour meek and kind,
And how he healed the lame and blind,
Am I not healed ?—for in my mind
His blessed form I see!
"Oh, love is not of sight, Annie,
Is not of outward things;
For, in my inmost soul I know
His pity for all mortal woe;
His words of love, spoke long ago,
Unseal its deepest springs!
"Then do not mourn for me, Annie,
Because that I am blind;
The beauty of all outward sight;
The wondrous shows of day and night;
All love, all faith, and all delight,
Are strong in heart and mind!"
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