THE PILGRIM.

BY MISS L. E. L.

VAIN folly of another age,
This wand'ring over earth,
To find the peace by some dark sin
Banished our household hearth.

On Lebanon the dark green pines
Wave over sacred ground,
And Carmel's consecrated rose
Springs from a hallowed mound.

Glorious the truth they testify,
And blessed is their name;
But even in such sacred spot
Are sin and woe the same.

Oh pilgrim! vain each toilsome step, Vain every weary day;

There is no charm in soil or shrine To wash thy guilt away.

Return, with prayer and tear return,
To those who weep at home;
To dry their tears will more avail,
Than o'er a world to roam.

There's hope for one who leaves with shame
The guilt that lured before :
Remember, HE who said "repent,”
Said also, "sin no more."

Return, and in thy daily round
Of duty and of love

Thou best wilt find that patient faith
Which lifts the soul above.

In every innocent prayer each child
Lisps at his father's knee:

If thine has been to teach that prayer,
There will be hope for thee.

There is a small white church that stands

Beside thy father's grave,

There kneel and pour those earnest prayers That sanctify and save.

Around thee draw thine own home ties,
And, with a chastened mind,
In meek well-doing seek that peace
No wandering will find.

In charity and penitence

Thy sin will be forgiven ;

Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine

Whence prayers ascend to Heaven.

PROVIDENCE.

BY LEIGH HUNT.

JUST as a mother with sweet pious face
Yearns towards her little children from her seat,
Gives one a kiss, another an embrace,

Takes this upon her knee, that on her feet;

And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences,
She learns their feelings and their various will,
To this a look, to that a word dispenses,

And whether stern or smiling loves them still ;-
So Providence for us, high, infinite,

Makes our necessities its watchful task,
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants;
And e'en if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies because 'twould have us ask,
Or seems but to deny, or in denying grants.

HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

"It is recorded of Henry the First, that after the death of his son, Prince William, who perished in a shipwreck off the coast of Normandy, he was never seen to smile.

THE bark that held a prince went down,
The sweeping waves rolled on;

And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?

He lived-for life may long be borne

Ere sorrow break its chain;

Why comes not death to those who mourn?

He never smiled again!

There stood proud forms around his throne,

The stately and the brave,

But which could fill the place of one,

That one beneath the wave?

Before him passed the young and fair,

In pleasure's reckless train,

But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair-
He never smiled again.

He sat where festal bowls went round,
He heard the minstrel sing;
He saw the tourney's victor crowned,
Amidst the knightly ring:

A murmur of the restless deep

Was blent with every strain,

A voice of winds that would not sleep, -
He never smiled again!

Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the trace
Of vows once fondly poured,

And strangers took the kinsman's place
At many a joyous board;

Graves, which true love had bathed with tears,

Were left to heaven's bright rain,

Fresh hopes were born for other years

He never smiled again!