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But soon the morning's happier light
Its glory shall restore :

And eyelids that are sealed in death
Shall wake to close no more.

Peabody.

THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN.

"I am a Pebble! and yield to none!"
Were the swelling words of a tiny stone;
"Nor time nor seasons can alter me;
I am abiding, while ages flee.

The pelting hail, and the drizzling rain,
Have tried to soften me, long, in vain ;
And the tender dew has sought to melt
Or touch my heart; but it was not felt.
There's none that can tell about my birth,
For I'm as old as the big, round earth.
The children of men arise, and pass
Out of the world, like the blades of grass;
And many a foot on me has trod,
That's gone from sight, and under the sod.
I am a Pebble ! but who art thou,
Rattling along from the restless bough?"

The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, And lay for a moment abashed and mute :

She never before had been so near
This gravelly ball, this mundane sphere:
And she felt for a time at a loss to know
How to answer a thing so coarse and low.
But to give reproof of a nobler sort
Than the angry look, or the keen retort,
At length she said, in a gentle tone :
"Since it has happened that I am thrown
From the lighter element where I grew,
Down to another so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,
Abased, I will cover my head with dust,
And quickly retire from the sight of one
Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun,
Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel
Has ever subdued, or made to feel!"
And soon in the earth she sank away,

From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay.

But it was not long ere the soil was broke
By the peering head of an infant oak!
And, as it arose, and its branches spread,
The Pebble looked up, and wondering, said,
"A modest Acorn,-never to tell

What was enclosed in its simple shell!
That the pride of the forest was folded up
In the narrow space of its little cup!
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
Which proves that nothing could hide her worth!

R

And O, how many will tread on me,
To come and admire the beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering towards the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I!
Useless and vain, a cumberer here,
I have been idling from year to year.
But never, from this, shall a vaunting word
From the humbled Pebble again be heard,
Till something without me or within,
Shall show the purpose for which I've been
The Pebble its vow could not forget,
And it lies there wrapped in silence yet.

H. Gould.

THE SHIP IS READY.

Fare thee well! the ship is ready,
And the breeze is fresh and steady.
Hands are fast the anchor weighing;
High in air the streamer's playing.
Spread the sails-the waves are swelling
Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling.
Fare thee well! and when at sea,
Think of those who sigh for thee.

When from land and home receding,
And from hearts that ache to bleeding,
Think of those behind, who love thee,
While the sun is bright above thee!

Then, as down to ocean glancing,
In the waves his rays are dancing,
Think how long the night will be
To the eyes that weep for thee.

When the lonely night-watch keeping,
All below thee still and sleeping,-
As the needle points the quarter,
O'er the wide and trackless water,
Let thy vigils ever find thee

Mindful of the friends behind thee!
Let thy bosom's magnet be

Turned to those who wake for thee.

When with slow and gentle motion,
Heaves the bosom of the ocean,—
While in peace thy bark is riding,
And the silver moon is gliding
O'er the sky with tranquil splendour,
Where the shining hosts attend her :
Let the brightest visions be,
Country, home, and friends, to thee!

When the tempest hovers o'er thee, Danger, wreck, and death before thee; While the sword of fire is gleaming, Wild the winds, the torrent streaming,

Then, a pious suppliant bending,

Let thy thoughts, to Heaven ascending,
Reach the mercy-seat, to be

Met by prayers that rise for thee!

H. Gould.

A NAME IN THE SAND.

Alone I walked the ocean-strand;
A pearly shell was in my hand:
I stooped, and wrote upon the sand.
My name the year-the day.
As onward from the spot I passed,
One lingering look behind I cast :
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And washed my lines away.

And so, methought, 'twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me;
A wave of dark oblivion's sea

Will sweep across the place,
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been to be no more,
Of me—my day—the name I bore,
To leave nor track, nor trace.

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