18 "Oh! Change my Father's Heart!"

"OH! CHANGE MY FATHER'S HEART!"

I

S. C. HALL, F.S.A.

HEARD this story of a little child;

A Sunday scholar-tender, gentle, mild:
One Sabbath morn her father bade her go

And buy his beer: she meekly answered, "No!
No, O my father, do not send me there;
The day is holy, and I may not dare!"

"Go, or I'll flog thee: do as thou art bid!"
Again the child, with clasped hands said, "Nay,
God's law forbids it; that I must obey."

"If not," he said, "I'll flog thee:" and he did.

She sought her humble room, but shed no tear:
The father went himself and bought his beer.
While he sate drinking it, he heard a moan,
Something between a murmur and a groan-
At least, he thought so: and went up the stair:
To hear his little kneeling daughter's prayer:
"Teach me, Almighty God, to bear my part:
O, dear Lord Jesus, change my father's heart!"

He heard and went; but soon was on the stair-
To hear again his kneeling daughter's prayer:
"Teach me, Almighty God, to bear my part:
O, dear Lord Jesus, change my father's heart!"

He sate alone-alone: what made him think
Some bitter mingled with his usual drink:
And that he saw a light, dispelling gloom-
Filling the cheerless and half-furnished room;
And then a hand that pointed to the stair?
And who will say nor light nor hand was there?—
He rose and went: a third time heard the prayer:
"Teach me, Almighty God, to bear my part:
O, dear Lord Jesus, change my father's heart!"

His Guardian Angel, though unseen, was near;
What whisper was it entered heart and ear?

Heaven's ray was shining on the tear he wept!
On the stair-head he also knelt-to pray:
"Teach me, Almighty God, to bear my part:
O, dear Lord Jesus, change her father's heart!”

Mr. Orator Puff.

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The prayer was heard: from that God-blessed day
He drank no poison-drop; and never more
Cross'd he the threshold of the drunkard's door;
The pledge he took, and well that pledge he kept.

And dearly does the good man love to hear
His little kneeling child's thanksgiving-prayer;
That fills the house and makes all sunshine there:
Thank thee, O God, I bear my easy part:

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For thou, Lord Jesus, changed my father's heart!"

(From "An Old Story.")

MR.

MR. ORATOR PUFF.

MOORE.

R. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, The one squeaking thus, and the other down so! In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, For one was B alt, and the rest G below.

Oh! oh! Orator Puff!

One voice for one orator's surely enough.

But he still talked away spite of coughs and of frowns,
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs,
That a wag once, on hearing the orator say

"My voice is for war," ask'd him, "Which of them pray?" Oh! oh! Orator Puff!

One voice for one orator's surely enough.

Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin,
And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown,
He tripp'd near a saw-pit and tumbled right in,
"Sinking Fund," the last words as his noddle came down.
Oh! oh! Orator Puff!

One voice for one orator's surely enough.

"Help! help!" he exclaim'd, in his he-and-she tones, "Help me out! help me out-I have broken my bones!" "Help you out?" said a Paddy who pass'd: "what a bother! Why, there's two of you there, can't you help one another?"

Oh! oh! Orator Puff!

One voice for one orator's surely enough.

20

Too Late!

тоо

LATE!

WH

FERMANAGH MAIL.

WHIST, sir; would ye plaze to spake aisy,
And sit ye down there by the dure;

She sleeps, sir, so light and so restless,

She hears every step on the flure.

What ails her? God knows. She's been weakly
For months, and the heat dhrives her wild;
The summer has wasted and worn her

Till she's only the ghost of a child.

All I have? Yes she is, and God help me!
I'd three little darlints beside,

As purty as iver you see, sir

But wan by wan they dhrooped like, and died.
What was it that tuk them? ye're askin';
Why poverty sure, and no doubt;

They perished for food and fresh air, sir,
Like flowers dried up in the drought.

It was dreadful to lose them? Ay, was it!

It seemed like my heart-strings would break;
But there's days when, wid want and wid sorrow,
I'm thankful they're gone-for their sake.
Their father! Well, sir, saints forgive me!
It's a foul tongue that lowers its own!
But what wid the sthrikes and the liquor,
I'd better be sthrugglin' alone.

Do I want to keep this wan? the darlint,
The last and dearest of all!

Shure, you're niver a father yourself, sir,
Or you wouldn't be askin' at all!
What is that? Milk and food for the baby!
A doctor and medicine free!

You're hunting out all the sick children

And poor toilin' mothers like me!

God bless you! and thim that have sent you!
A new life you have given me so,

Shure, sir, won't you look in the cradle

At the colleen, you've saved, 'fore you go?

Oh, mother o' mercies have pity!

Oh, darlint, why couldn't you wait?

Dead! dead! an' the help in the doorway!
Too late! Oh, my baby! too late!

H He gave the people bread;

E lived a self-denying life,

And panting still for honest strife,
His noble spirit fled.

He found the nations severed wide,
Their commerce tied and bound;
His hands the cruel cords untied,
The crippling chains unwound.

Then, commerce from the dust arose,
Extending wide her hand;
Winning as friends her former foes,
In this, and every land.

But he whose pen and gentle voice,
With magic power and more
Thus bade the universe rejoice,
Now rests for evermore!

He sleeps not in that honour'd pile,
The minster of the West:

Where 'neath the cloisters, nave, and aisle,
Kings, warriors, poets rest.

But in a lowlier, humbler spot,
Hard-by his childhood's home,
The man of men, who now is not,
Sleeps peacefully alone.

But not unwept, unhonour'd, laid,
For by his coffin stood

Statesmen, who truest honours paid,
And men of noble blood.

While men of massive mind and will,

And men from every shore,

Here wept for him whose heart was still,
Whose tears would flow no more.

The everlasting hills look down
Upon his simple grave;

Its roof the sky, wild flowers its crown,
And fir trees round it wave.

And here, in wiser, happier days,
Shall patriots, statesmen stand,
And catch some soul-inspiring rays
From mem'ry's sacred brand.

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This dear old Land of ours.

Here, too, may come the rustic swain,
To learn how humble worth

May win a wreath of purest fame,
And benefit the earth.

And other COBDENS thus inspired,

Sweet freedom's war to wage,
Shall be by holy ardour fired,
To bless the coming age.

THIS DEAR OLD LAND OF OURS.

E. J. OLIVER.

UR country! deep within our hearts
A sacred feeling dwells,

For thee, dear land-thy sea-girt shore,
Thy hills and verdant dells;

Thy skies, though sometimes overcast
With clouds, are dearer far

To us, than those of foreign climes,
Whose radiance nought can mar.
Oh sons of Britain, far or near,
In huts or cloud-capp'd towers,
Praise loud and long, in hearty song,
This dear old land of ours.

The arts of peace thy people love,
Nor wish the sword to draw,
But if aggressive rulers seek

To loose the dogs of war,

And freedom's holy cause assail,

Then, rising in their might,

From forge and plough, thy freeborn sons

Rush eager to the fight.

Dear land of freedom, land of truth,
O'er all the world revered,

By just and righteous nations loved,
By cruel tyrants feared;

Long may thy flag of liberty

Wave high o'er land and sea.
And aid the right against the wrong,
And bid the slave be free.