The Snow-Drop | Page 9

cherished only child."?The lustre beaming from her eye,?Seemed caught from radiant orbs on high,?So brilliant, yet so mild.
"Pay to the Lord thy vow," she said,?"God's altar is a pleasant bed,?From thence to heaven I'll rise.?The Lord has answered thy request,?Israel is free, our land at rest,?I'll be thy sacrifice."

"Like a lost sheep I have gone astray."--Psalms.
Like sheep that wander far astray,?Nor ask the shepherd's care,?Did I forsake the narrow way,?Nor seek my God in prayer.
I wandered in a desert wild.?Where snares beset me 'round;?Trifles and toys my feet beguiled,?And all my senses drowned.
Though clouds encompassed me around,?In darkness on I sped,?Still wand'ring on enchanted ground,?Till hope seemed almost fled.
I murmured, at the righteous hand?That held the chast'ning rod,?Like one that could not understand?The precepts of his God.
Well might the Father's smile depart,?The Savior hide his face,?And God, the spirit, shun my heart,?That foul polluted place.
We never find the heavenly dove?Perched on an idol throne;?Those, who would share Jehovah's love,?Must worship him alone.

"And the vail of the temple was rent in twain."--Scripture.
Come, with your guilt and sin oppressed,?In Christ there's pardon, peace and rest;?Come, humbly bow before his feet,?No vail conceals the mercy seat.
Come, boldly to a throne of grace,?The vilest here may find a place,--?For that dark vail was rent in twain,?When Christ, the heavenly lamb, was slain.
Come, rear no altar, slay no beast,?Our Savior now is great high priest,?He rent the vail, to make it plain,?That free access should hence remain.
LINES
TO A LONG ABSENT RELATIVE.
Is Thy native land forgotten??Wilt thou still a wand'rer be??Have New England's hills and valleys?Lost their every charm for thee?
Is thy native land forgotten??Tell me, dost thou feel content,?Far from that loved rural dwelling?Where thine infant days were spent?
Is thy native land forgotten,?Where glad parents, filled with joy,?Prayed for heaven's richest blessings?To attend their infant boy?
Is thy native land forgotten,?Laud where thou first drew thy breath,?Where those sainted parents watched thee,?Where they closed their eyes in death?
Is thy native land forgotten??Or dost thou revere the sod?Where thy heart for sin was broken,?Where thy soul found peace with God?
Is that sacred stream forgotten,?Where, immersed beneath the flood,?Saying, "I with Christ am buried,?And henceforth will live to God?"
Is that hallowed spot forgotten??Or does fancy paint it now,?With bright angels hov'ring o'er it?Waiting to record that vow?
Are thy brothers all forgotten,?Playmates 'neath New England's skies??When thy sisters' names are mentioned,?Do no warm emotions rise?
Is that wasted form forgotten,?Ling'ring 'round cold Jordan's shore,?Praying death to stay his arrow?Till she hears thy voice once more?
Can that sister be forgotten??Thou art twining 'round her heart:?Come, and let her eyes behold thee,?Let her soul in peace depart.
Is that river's shore forgotten,?Where in childhood, oft we strayed;?Where the grape in purple clusters,?Ripen'd 'neath the elm tree's shade?
Tell, dear friend, hast thou forgotten,?When beneath the apple tree,?That fair group of young companions,?Joined in merry sport with thee?
That old apple tree has withered,?And has vanished from the plain;?But that group are all still living,--?Come, and meet with us again.
LINES
TO THE WIFE OF THE ABOVE.
Fair daughter of a sunny clime,[4]?And bride of him we love,?The grief of those who mourn his loss,?Hath power thy heart to move.
E'en now we love thee for his sake,?But not for his alone,?For in thy heart, a chord we find,?That vibrates with our own.
We love thee, while thy feet still roam?Far on a southern shore;?But lead that wand'ring brother home,?And we will love thee more.
Come, range New England's verdant hills,?And breathe our healthful air,?'Twill tinge thy cheeks with brighter bloom,?And make thee still more fair.
Come, while the vernal zephyrs blow,?And wake to life the flowers;?Come, while the feathered warblers sing?Through all our woodland bowers.
What though our leaves will fade and fall.?And chilling north winds blow,?And all New England's hills and vales,?Lie buried deep in snow!
Snug dwellings and warm clothing still?Have power to keep us warm,--?We sit around the fireside then,?And smile to hear the storm.
Come, with thy partner, to that home?Which once he called his own,?Which his long absence oft has made?Most desolate and lone.
Welcome, twice welcome thou shalt be,?Yes, welcome as his bride;?Welcome, I trust, for virtues too,?Which in thy heart abide.
Come, see the grateful tears of joy?Stand trembling in the eye?Of those, who never can forget?The lost one, till they die.
Come, feel the deep impassioned grasp?Of each extended hand,?Which welcomes that lost wanderer back?To his dear native land.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 4: The lady addressed is a native of the south.]
COME HOME TO NEW ENGLAND.
TO E.E.W. OF TEXAS.
Come home to New England, the land of thy birth,?All nations still call her the queen of the earth.?Oh! come with thy partner and sweet rosy child,?Where friends in life's morning, around you have smiled.
Come, gather wild flowers, from the brookside and dell,?And fruit from the orchard you once loved so well,?And feast on the sugar, fresh made from the grove,?Where you and your brothers