POEMS.
13
Thus! thus! to hold thy hand, Mother,
Will still my latest pain—
Smile on me ere I die, Mother,
Oh! may we meet again!
H. A.
Will still my latest pain—
Smile on me ere I die, Mother,
Oh! may we meet again!
H. A.
THE SLEEPING MONITOR.
There lay a weary child
'Neath an old tree;
In its sweet sleep it smiled,
How joyfully!
Bright must its dreams have been,
Couched in that sylvan scene
So peacefully.
'Neath an old tree;
In its sweet sleep it smiled,
How joyfully!
Bright must its dreams have been,
Couched in that sylvan scene
So peacefully.
One near that sheltered spot
Gloomily pass'd;
Fortune around his lot
Rich gifts had cast;
Yet did his heart declare
Peace from its sojourn there
Still hurried fast.
Gloomily pass'd;
Fortune around his lot
Rich gifts had cast;
Yet did his heart declare
Peace from its sojourn there
Still hurried fast.
