Cottage Poems | Page 9

pleasure she rolls,
The foretaste of
heavenly joys.
Her soul is refined by her Lord,
She shines in the truths of His Word:
Each Christian grace
Shines full in her face,
And heightens the
glow of her charms.
One day as I passed o'er the mountain,
She sung by a clear crystal
fountain

(Nor knew I was near);
Her notes charmed my ear,
As thus she
melodiously chanted:
"Oh! when shall we see our dear Jesus?
His presence from poverty
frees us,--
And bright from His face
The rays of His grace
Beam, purging
transgression for ever.
"Oh! when shall we see our dear Jesus?
His presence from sorrow
will ease us,
When up to the sky
With angels we fly--
Then farewell all sorrow
for ever!
"Come quickly! come quickly, Lord Jesus!
Thy presence alone can
appease us;
For aye on Thy breast
Believers shall rest,
Where blest they shall
praise Thee for ever."
Oh, had you but seen this sweet maiden!
She smiled like the flowers
of Eden,
And raised to the skies
Her fond beaming eyes,
And sighed to be
with her Redeemer
While thus she stood heavenly musing,
And sometimes her Bible
perusing,
Came over the way,
All silvered with grey,
A crippled and aged
poor woman.
Her visage was sallow and thin,
Through her rags peeped her
sunburnt skin;
With sorrow oppressed,
She held to her breast
An infant, all pallid

with hunger.
Half breathless by climbing the mountain,
She tremblingly stood by
the fountain,
And begged that our maid
Would lend her some aid,
And pity both
her and her infant.
Our maiden had nought but her earning--
Her heart with soft pity was
yearning;
She drooped like a lily
Bedewed in the valley,
Whilst tears fell in
pearly showers.
With air unaffected and winning,
To cover them, of her own spinning
Her apron of blue,
Though handsome and new,
She gave, and led
them to her cottage.
All peace, my dear maiden, be thine:
Your manners and looks are
divine;
On earth you shall rest,
In heaven be blest,
And shine like an angel
for ever.
More blest than the king on the throne
Is he who shall call you his
own!
The ruby, with you
Compared, fades to blue--
Its price is but dust
on the balance. {233a}
Religion makes beauty enchanting,
And even where beauty is
wanting,
The temper and mind,
Religion-refined,
Will shine through the veil
with sweet lustre.

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.
The sun shines bright, the morning's fair,
The gossamers {233b}float
on the air,
The dew-gems twinkle in the glare,
The spider's loom
Is closely plied, with artful care,
Even in my room.
See how she moves in zigzag line,
And draws along her silken twine,

Too soft for touch, for sight too fine,
Nicely cementing:
And makes her polished drapery shine,
The edge indenting.
Her silken ware is gaily spread,
And now she weaves herself a bed,

Where, hiding all but just her head,
She watching lies
For moths or gnats, entangled spread,
Or buzzing flies.
You cunning pest! why, forward, dare
So near to lay your bloody
snare!
But you to kingly courts repair
With fell design,
And spread with kindred courtiers there
Entangling twine. {234}
Ah, silly fly! will you advance?
I see you in the sunbeam dance:

Attracted by the silken glance
In that dread loom;
Or blindly led, by fatal chance,
To meet your doom.

Ah! think not, 'tis the velvet flue
Of hare, or rabbit, tempts your view;

Or silken threads of dazzling hue,
To ease your wing,
The foaming savage, couched for you,
Is on the spring.
Entangled! freed!--and yet again
You touch! 'tis o'er--that plaintive
strain,
That mournful buzz, that struggle vain,
Proclaim your doom:
Up to the murderous den you're ta'en,
Your bloody tomb!
So thoughtless youths will trifling play
With dangers on their giddy
way,
Or madly err in open day
Through passions fell,
And fall, though warned oft, a prey
To death and hell!
But hark! the fluttering leafy trees
Proclaim the gently swelling
breeze,
Whilst through my window, by degrees,
Its breathings play:
The spider's web, all tattered flees,
Like thought, away.
Thus worldlings lean on broken props,
And idly weave their
cobweb-hopes,
And hang o'er hell by spider's ropes,
Whilst sins enthral;
Affliction blows--their joy elopes--
And down they fall! {235}
EPISTLE TO A YOUNG CLERGYMAN.

"Study to show thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not
to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth."--2 TIMOTHY ii. 15.
My youthful brother, oft I long
To write to you in prose or song;

With no pretence to judgment strong,
But warm affection--
May truest friendship rivet long
Our close connection!
With deference, what I impart
Receive with humble grateful heart,

Nor proudly from my counsel start,
I only lend it--
A friend ne'er aims a poisoned dart--
He wounds, to mend it.
A graduate you've just been made,
And lately passed the Mitred Head;

I trust, by the Blest Spirit, led,
And Shepherd's care:
And not a wolf, in sheepskin clad,
As numbers are.
The greatest office you sustain
For love of souls, and not of gain:

Through your neglect should one be slain,
The Scriptures say,
Your careless hands his blood will stain,
On the Last Day.
But if pure truths, like