Canada and Other Poems | Page 2

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 run.
The winsome maids with willing hearts,?In youthful beauty all aglow,?Right cheerfully perform their parts?Where duty's voice may bid them go.
Oh, may their graceful figures long?Their youthful energy retain,?And may they meet no heartless wrong,?To fill their gentle souls with pain.
As yet there is no village bell,?Save that which rings the call to school,?Where festive youth drink at the well?Which flows from knowledge' sparkling pool.
And yet,