RELIGIOUS TRACTS.
They descend to the humblest lot,
They are found in the proudest dome,
And free to the hearth of the lowliest cot,
Like the beam of Heaven they come.
When the way-side beggar wails
They are with him in his care,
To tell of a refuge that never fails,
Of a wealth he may freely share.
In the sailor's chest they sleep,
They check his ribald-song,
They kindle a flame in his musing breast,
'Mid the night watch cold and long.
Like the light-wing'd bird they rove
Untir'd from zone to zone,
With links of love they enchain the world
To Mercy's changeless throne.