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Be ever kind to those who bend

Beneath the weight of time; For they were once,

like thee,


friend, In blooming manhood's prime.

But bitter cares and weary years

Have borne their joys away,
Till nought remains but age and tears,

And darkening, dim decay.

Life's sweetest hours have hastened past,

Its bloom is faded now,
And dusky twilight deepens fast

Along the furrowed brow.

And soon the shattered remnants all

A narrow house receives ; For one by one they silent fall,

Like withered autumn leaves.

O, then be kind, where'er thou art !

Nor deem such action vain ;
Kind words can make the aged heart

Seem almost young again.

Cheer thou the weary pilgrim on

To yonder mansion cold; And may

the same for thee be done When thou thyself art old.




Day is past.
Stars have set their watch at last,
Founts that through the deep woods flow,
Make sweet sounds unheard till now,
Flowers have shut with fading light-

Good night.

Go to rest.
Sleep sits dove-like on thy breast !
If within that secret cell
One dark form of memory dwell,
Be it mantled from thy sight-

Good night!

Joy be thine.
Kind looks o'er thy slumbers shine !
Go, and in thy spirit-land
Meet thy home's long parted band;
Be their eyes all love and light -

Good night!

Peace to all !
Dreams of heaven on mourners fall !
Exile, o'er thy couch may gleams
Pass from thine own mountain streams;
Bard, away to worlds more bright

Good night!


THERE is a time to live! 'Tis when

The world hath wants ;
When we can dry the mourner's tears,
When we can chase the gloomy fears,
Which shadow life's eventful years,

And haunt our world.

There is a time to work! 'Tis while

The daylight lasts ;
While God prolongs existence here,
And crowns with plenty every year,
And makes his goodness to appear

In all around.

There is a time to play! 'Tis when

Our toil is o'er; When daylight disappears from earth, And loved ones gather 'round the hearth, And youth and age give way to mirth,

Which nature craves.

There is a time to weep! 'Tis when

The world is dark ; When parents, friends, and loved ones die, And our fond hopes in ruin lie, And life and beauty quickly fly

From every breast.



There is a time to love ! 'Tis when

Life's spring is bright;
When friends with kindness cluster round,
And blessings every where abound,
And warm and generous hearts are found,

To cheer our own.

There is a time to dance! 'Tis when

We know no sin ;
On flowery plains and verdant hills,
While music every bosom thrills,
And love to God each heart doth fill,-

Then dance with songs.

There is a time to pray! 'Tis when

We hope or fear;
In times of happiness or woe,
When joy or ill the heart doth know,
Let sinners to the Savior go,

And always pray.

There is a time to die! 'Tis when

Our work is done ;
'Tis when our peace with God is made,
And we in Jesus' robes arrayed,
And from our eyes the earth doth fade,

Then may we die.


Few poets have a deeper hold on the hearts of the New Englanders than Robert Burns, whose errors are forgotten in the contemplation of his genius and his worth.

We recently had in our possession the identical pair of Bibles presented by the immortal Burns to the dearest object of his affections, Highland Mary, on the banks of the winding Ayr, when he spent with her "one day of parting love." They are in remarkably good preservation, and belong to a descendant of the family of Mary's mother, Mrs. Campbell, whose property they became on the death of her daughter; and subsequently Mrs. Anderson, Mary's only surviving sister, acquired them. The circumstance of the Bible being in two volumes, seemed at one time to threaten its dismemberment, Mrs. Anderson having presented a volume to each of her two daughters; but on their approaching marriage, their brother William prevailed on them to dispose of the sacred volumes to him. On the first blank leaf of the first volume is written, in the

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