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To steal-oh! flinty-hearted sparks,
Worse than to little fish are sharks (Alas! to tell it my Muse winces),To steal—his apples, pears, and quinces. Put them where'er he would, alike their dooms; His efforts proved as fruitless as his rooms. As a pert dunghill cock, inflamed with ire, Erects his feathers and his comb of fire, When of some grains, his own by right, He's robbed by foes that take to flight,
So stood the Doctor:
With face as red
As coral bed,
Had his wife been there,
I do declare
After long buffeting in mental storm,
Ye who in proper titles glory,
Will think, I hope, as I have oft,
That, as this story's of a loft,
It should be called a “ Lofty Story." Well, Larrup, without more disputing, Fixed on this loft to put his fruit in;
And quickly had it thither moved,
From one apartment so erected
Of dislocating neck or shoulder, Which boys ne'er think of in a frisk
(Nay, oft it makes the urchins bolder), Adventurous spirits might contrive To reach the Doctor's apple-hive. In this room rested four or five
Of these young pilferers, undetected. Whilst leaden sleep sat on the Doctor's 'shutters
(By shutters I would here imply,
The lids that shut light from the eye),
At least, sufficent space to admit
Be lowered down with gentle ride.
A basket and a rope;
Who, raised by hope,
His ears had pretty ample proof
“To it again
With might and main,
“Yo! yo ho!
Up we go!"
When lo! up popped the Doctor's nob! How they all looked I can't express, So leave that part for you to guess; But you, perhaps, may think it right To know the end of Larrup's flight. Well! when they'd drawn him to the top, Where he, most likely, wished to stop, The wicked rascals let the Doctor drop!
I AM DYING.
Faint and fainter comes my breath,
Must, I know, be those of death.
Let me clasp thy warm, strong hand,
To the borders of this land.
Thence shall ever lead me on,
Where upon a throne eternal
Sits his loved and only Son.
O'er the past of joy and pain;
Till I was a child again,-
When I stood thy wife and bride-
In that hour of woman's pride!
Firmly twined about my heartOh, the bitter, burning anguish,
When first I knew that we must part!
All thy footsteps to attend;
He'll be with thee to the end.
Leading to my heavenly home, Christ has promised life immortal,
And 'tis he that bids me come.
And its chilling billows swell,
Thou wilt ieel that "all is well."
My last blessing let them keep-
They'll learn soon enough to weep.
Kiss them for me when they wake; Lead them gently in life's pathway,
Love them doubly for my sake. Clasp my hand still closer, darling,
This, the last night of my life, For to-morrow I shall never
Answer when thou call'st me “wife.” Fare thee well, my noble husband;
Faint not 'neath the chastening rod; Throw your strong arms round our children,
Keep them close to thee-and God!
ANSWER TO “I AM DYING.”-Rev. Wm. LAURIE
Dearest wife, I've raised thy pillow,
And I watch thy failing breath;
As I gaze on thee, and death.
And I feel thy feeble grasp
From my trembling, loving clasp.
When thou stoodst my bride and wife;
Had it cost me e'en my life.
Crushing down both mind and heart;
Here and now, oh, must we part!
Thou'lt be far beyond their power-
Ere time marks another hour.
Is a daily joy to me;
To know is not shared by thee.
And with me they stand and weep;
That they evermore may keep.
On our lips thou’lt daily be,
And with thee our Savior see.
Night by night when thou art gone;
I must guide them all alone.
And love's vigils I shall keep;
Until by thy side I sleep.