Cottage Poems | Page 3

And fervently:
He prayed that for His sake,
Whose guiltless blood was shed
For guilty ruined man,
We might that day be fed
With that pure bread
Which cheers the soul,
And living stream,
Where pleasures roll.
He prayed long for all,
And for his daughter dear,
That she, preserved from ill,

Might lead for many a year
A spotless life
When he's no more;
Then follow him
To Canaan's shore.
His faltering voice then fell,
His tears were dropping fast,
And muttering praise to God
For all His mercies past,
He closed his prayer
Midst heavenly joys,
And tasted bliss
Which never cloys.
In sweet discourse we spent
The fast declining day:
We spoke of Jesus' love,
And of that narrow way
Which leads, through care
And toil below,
To streams where joys
Eternal flow.
The wondrous plan of Grace,
Adoring, we surveyed,
The birth of heavenly skill--
In Love Eternal laid--
Too deep for clear

Angelic ken,
And far beyond
Dim-sighted men.
To tell you all that passed
Would far exceed my power;
Suffice it, then, to say,
Joy winged the passing hour,
Till, ere we knew,
The setting day
Had clad the world
In silver grey.
I kindly took my leave,
And blessed the happy lot
Of those I left behind
Lodged in their humble cot;
And pitied some
In palace walls,
Where pride torments,
And pleasure palls.
The silver moon now shed
A flood of trembling light
On tower, and tree, and stream;
The twinkling stars shone bright,
Nor misty stain
Nor cloud was seen
O'er all the deep
Celestial green.

Mild was the lovely night,
Nor stirred a whispering breeze.
Smooth was the glassy lake,
And still the leafy trees;
No sound in air
Was heard afloat,
Save Philomel's
Sweet warbling note.
My thoughts were on the wing,
And back my fancy fled
To where contentment dwelt
In the neat humble shed;
To shining courts
From thence it ran,
Where restless pride
Oppresses man.
In fame some search for bliss,
Some seek content in gain,
In search of happiness
Some give the slackened rein
To passions fierce,
And down the stream
Through giddy life,
Of pleasures dream.
These all mistake the way,
As many more have done:
The narrow path of bliss

Through God's Eternal Son
Directly tends;
And only he
Who treads this path
Can happy be.
Who anchors all above
Has still a happy lot,
Though doomed for life to dwell
E'en in a humble cot,
And when he lays
This covering down
He'll wear a bright
Immortal crown.
THE RAINBOW.
The shower is past, and the sky
O'erhead is both mild and serene,
Save where a few drops from on
high,
Like gems, twinkle over the green:
And glowing fair, in the black
north,
The rainbow o'erarches the cloud;
The sun in his glory comes forth,
And larks sweetly warble aloud.
That dismally grim northern sky
Says God in His vengeance once frowned,
And opened His
flood-gates on high,

Till obstinate sinners were drowned:
The lively bright south, and that
bow,
Say all this dread vengeance is o'er;
These colours that smilingly
glow
Say we shall be deluged no more.
Ever blessed be those innocent days,
Ever sweet their remembrance to me;
When often, in silent amaze,
Enraptured, I'd gaze upon thee!
Whilst arching adown the black sky
Thy colours glowed on the green hill,
To catch thee as lightning I'd
fly,
But aye you eluded my skill.
From hill unto hill your gay scene
You shifted--whilst crying aloud,
I ran, till at length from the green,
You shifted, at once to the cloud!
So, vain worldly phantoms betray
The youths who too eager pursue,
When ruined and far led astray,
Th' illusion escapes from their view.
Those peaceable days knew no care,
Except what arose from my play,
My favourite lambkin and hare,
And cabin I built o'er the way.
No cares did I say? Ah! I'm wrong:
Even childhood from cares is not free:
Far distant I see a grim throng
Shake horrible lances at me!

One day--I remember it still--
For pranks I had played on the clown
Who lived on the neighbouring
hill,
My cabin was trod to the ground.
Who ever felt grief such as I
When crashed by this terrible blow?
Not Priam, the monarch of Troy,
When all his proud towers lay low.
And grief upon grief was my lot:
Soon after, my lambkin was slain;
My hare, having strayed from its
cot,
Was chased by the hounds o'er the plain.
What countless calamities
teem
From memory's page on my view!--
How trifling soever you seem,
Yet once I have wept over you.
Then cease, foolish heart, to repine;
No stage is exempted from care:
If you would true happiness find,
Come follow! and I'll show you where.
But, first, let us take for our
guide
The Word which Jehovah has penned;
By this the true path is
descried
Which leads to a glorious end.
How narrow this path to our view!
How steep an ascent lies before!
Whilst, foolish fond heart, laid for

you
Are dazzling temptations all o'er.
What bye-ways with easy