Cottage Poems | Page 2

E'en at His beck.
And on that great and dreadful day
When heaven and earth shall pass
away,
Each soul to bliss He will convey,
That knows His name;
And give the giddy world a prey
To quenchless flame.
So oft when Sabbaths bade us rest,
And heavenly zeal inspired your
breast,
Obedient to the high behest
You preached to all,
Whilst God your zealous efforts blessed,
And owned your call.
The very thought my soul inspires,
And kindles bright her latent fires;

My Muse feels heart-warm fond desires,
And spreads her wing,
And aims to join th' angelic choirs,
And sweetly sing.
May rosy Health with speed return,
And all your wonted ardour burn,

And sickness buried in his urn,
Sleep many years!
So, countless friends who loudly mourn,
Shall dry their tears!
Your wailing flock will all rejoice
To hear their much-loved
shepherd's voice,
And long will bless the happy choice
Their hearts have made,
And tuneful mirth will swell the noise

Through grove and glade.
Your dearer half will join with me
To celebrate the jubilee,
And
praise the Great Eternal Three
With throbbing joy,
And taste those pleasures pure and free
Which never cloy.
THE HAPPY COTTAGERS.
One sunny morn of May,
When dressed in flowery green
The dewy landscape, charmed
With Nature's fairest scene,
In thoughtful mood
I slowly strayed
O'er hill and dale,
Through bush and glade.
Throughout the cloudless sky
Of light unsullied blue,
The larks their matins raised,
Whilst on my dizzy view,
Like dusky motes,
They winged their way
Till vanished in
The blaze of day.
The linnets sweetly sang
On every fragrant thorn,
Whilst from the tangled wood

The blackbirds hailed the morn;
And through the dew
Ran here and there,
But half afraid,
The startled hare.
The balmy breeze just kissed
The countless dewy gems
Which decked the yielding blade
Or gilt the sturdy stems,
And gently o'er
The charmed sight
A deluge shed
Of trembling light.
A sympathetic glow
Ran through my melting soul,
And calm and sweet delight
O'er all my senses stole;
And through my heart
A grateful flood
Of joy rolled on
To Nature's God.
Time flew unheeded by,
Till wearied and oppressed,
Upon a flowery bank
I laid me down to rest;
Beneath my feet

A purling stream
Ran glittering in
The noontide beam.
I turned me round to view
The lovely rural scene;
And, just at hand, I spied
A cottage on the green;
The street was clean,
The walls were white,
The thatch was neat,
The window bright.
Bold chanticleer, arrayed
In velvet plumage gay,
With many an amorous dame,
Fierce strutted o'er the way;
And motley ducks
Were waddling seen,
And drake with neck
Of glossy green.
The latch I gently raised,
And oped the humble door;
An oaken stool was placed
On the neat sanded floor;
An aged man
Said with a smile,
"You're welcome, sir:
Come rest a while."

His coarse attire was clean,
His manner rude yet kind:
His air, his words, and looks
Showed a contented mind;
Though mean and poor,
Thrice happy he,
As by our tale
You soon shall see.
But don't expect to hear
Of deeds of martial fame,
Or that our peasant mean
Was born of rank or name,
And soon will strut,
As in romance,
A knight and all
In armour glance.
I sing of real life;
All else is empty show--
To those who read a source
Of much unreal woe:
Pollution, too,
Through novel-veins,
Oft fills the mind
With guilty stains.
Our peasant long was bred
Affliction's meagre child,
Yet gratefully resigned,

Loud hymning praises, smiled,
And like a tower
He stood unmoved,
Supported by
The God he loved.
His loving wife long since
Was numbered with the dead
His son, a martial youth,
Had for his country bled;
And now remained
One daughter fair,
And only she,
To soothe his care.
The aged man with tears
Spoke of the lovely maid;
How earnestly she strove
To lend her father aid,
And as he ran
Her praises o'er,
She gently oped
The cottage-door.
With vegetable store
The table soon she spread,
And pressed me to partake;
Whilst blushes rosy-red
Suffused her face--

The old man smiled,
Well pleased to see
His darling child.
With venerable air
He then looked up to God,
A blessing craved on all,
And on our daily food;
Then kindly begged
I would excuse
Their humble fair,
And not refuse.--
The tablecloth, though coarse,
Was of a snowy white,
The vessels, spoons, and knives
Were clean and dazzling bright;
So down we sat
Devoid of care,
Nor envied kings
Their dainty fare.
When nature was refreshed,
And we familiar grown;
The good old man exclaimed,
"Around Jehovah's throne,
Come, let us all
Our voices raise,
And sing our great
Redeemer's praise!"

Their artless notes were sweet,
Grace ran through every line;
Their breasts with rapture swelled,
Their looks were all divine:
Delight o'er all
My senses stole,
And heaven's pure joy
O'erwhelmed my soul.
When we had praised our God,
And knelt around His throne,
The aged man began
In deep and zealous tone,
With hands upraised
And heavenward eye,
And prayed loud