Canada and Other Poems | Page 2

in another year,

Fraught with what sorrow, none can say,
Nor with what pain, to
mortals here.
Another year has roll'd away,
With all its sorrows, joys and fears,

But still the light of hope's glad ray,
Yet beams within our heart, and
cheers.
One year, one span of time has pass'd,
So swift to some, to others
slow;
But it has gone, and we should cast
Along with it, remorse
and woe.
Of things we've done, or only thought,
'Tis useless now the bitter tear,

Of actions unavailing wrought,
Let them repose upon their bier.
We should, indeed, e'en yet atone
For what our reason says we can,

But never let remorse's groan
Degrade us from our state as man.
Let us discharge the debts we owe,
But still some debts will be
unpaid;
But we, if we forgive, also,
Should ne'er, despairing, feel
afraid.
The future is before us still,
And to that future we should gaze,


With hope renew'd, with firmer will,
To tread life's weary, tangl'd
maze.
We ne'er should let the gloomy past,
Bow down our heads in dark
despair,
But we should keep those lessons fast,
Which e'en our
follies taught us there.
Experience, so dearly bought,
By folly, or by ignorance,
Should, in
our inmost system wrought,
Our daily life improve, advance.
Then let us press towards the goal,
The common goal of all mankind,

Go on, while seasons onward roll,
Nor cast one fainting look
behind.
And, as we journey through this year,
Let us in watchfulness beware

Of all that brings remorseful tear,
Or future terror and despair.
Let us with thoughtful vision scan
Each step we take, each act we do,

That we may meet our brother man,
With no unrighteous thing to
rue.
A happy, happy, bright New Year,
I wish to all the sons of men,

With happy hearts, and merry cheer,
Till it has roll'd its round again.

TO A CANARY.
Imprison'd songster, thou for me
Hath warbl'd many a cheerful lay,

Thy songs, so sweetly glad and free,
Revive my heart, from day to
day.
The frost is keen, the wind is cold,
No wild-bird twitters from the
spray,
But, still resounding as of old,
Thy voice thrills forth, and
seems to say:
"Wake up! O sadden'd mortal, wake!
Shake off that anxious,

careworn frown,
Thy hopes renew, fresh courage take,
Nor let your
troubles weigh you down.
"See, I am happy all alone,
And, kept behind the prison bars,
I sing,
and shouldst thou ever moan?
--A mortal free, beneath the stars.
"I fly around my narrow cage,
I sing the song that gladdens you,

But carking care thy thoughts engage,
While walking free, 'neath
heaven's blue.
"My heart might faint, my spirit die,
Far from my kind, and from my
home,
But cheerfully I sing and fly,
Beneath my narrow prison's
dome.
"Oh, list, sad mortal to my song,
And, while thou hearest, mark it
well,
And go thy cheerful way along,
Nor pray to know, what none
can tell.
"I'll sing my song each day for thee,
And live the moments as they fly,

With gladden'd heart, with sounding glee,
And thou shouldst do the
same as I."

AUTOGRAPHS.
TO A LITTLE GIRL.
E ach wish, my fairest child, I pen,
F or thee I write with earnest heart;

F or who shall say, that ere, again,
I shall behold thee; when we
part
E 'en now the time is near, I start.
H ere are my wishes, then, sweet child,
A long life's pathway may
thou go,
R ob'd white, as now, in virtue mild,
R etaining pure, thy
virtue's snow.
I wish thee this, and wish thee more,--
S o long as
thou on earth hath life,
O h! may thy heart be never sore,
N or vex'd

with anxious care or strife!
TO A YOUNG LADY.
Short is the time, my friend, since I
First heard thy voice, first saw
thy face,
And yet, the days in gliding by,
Have left within my mind
a trace--
A friendly trace of thee and thine,
Which I am sure will
long remain
Within my heart, to cheer and shine
With other joys, to
lessen pain.
It is my hope, also, that thou
May, in thy heart, and on
thy tongue,
Have thoughts and words for him, who now
Is yours so
friendly, T. F. Young.
KELVIN.
While poets sing in lofty strain,
And ask where Rome and Carthage
are,
This humble village on the plain,
To many hearts is dearer far.
Then to these hearts I'll sing my lay,
With humble Kelvin for my
theme;
My song shall be of life to-day,
And not a retrospective
dream.
Of "Kelvin's Grove," some love-lorn swain
Sang sweetly, many years
ago,
And I shall sound the name again,
Although I may not sound it
so.
Of Kelvin's bonnie lasses, I
Can sing, tho' not so well as he,
And
Kelvin's groves, in passing by,
I can repeat, have charms for me.
And Kelvin's stream, where fishes glide,
And timid fowl their
plumage lave,
Where drooping willows by its side,
Their graceful
branches gently wave.
Here happiness and plenty reign,
And e'en refinement, too, is seen.

For music sends its cheering strain,
Where flowers grow within the
green.

Here virtuous dames with busy hand,
Untiring do what should be
done,
And sons and fathers till the land,
And to each manly duty