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Had wished it most, they never could have done
What I have done for her; and then at last
She might have wearied all their patience out.
Then blessings be upon His holy Name,
Who called her out of this


sinful world, And took her to Himself.

They buried her
Down in the valley in the old churchyard,
Beside the ruined church. I wished to go
And see her laid within her little grave;
'Twould have been better for me, I believe,
If they had suffered me to go with them;
But they were all against it, and that time
They might have had their way in anything.
But when I saw the little funeral
Wind down the field, I turned and shut the

And sitting on a stool I hid my
I know not what it was came over me,
But I grew giddy, and fell down, and struck
My head against the corner of a chair,
And there has been a noise there ever since.


And now I thank you. Many a journey long You took through wet and cold to see my child, And she found much of comfort in your words; And at the last I think was better pleased To go than stay. Then why should I so grieve? And why should I not rather feel and say,

'Twas the best nursing that I ever did,
To nurse her and to bring her up for Him,
Who called her to the knowledge of Himself,
Then took her out of this poor sinful world ?”



To the sound of evening bells

All that lives to rest repairs,
Birds unto their leafy dells,

Beasts unto their forest lairs.

All things wear an home-bound look,

From the weary hind that plods
Through the corn-fields, to the rook

Sailing tow'rd the glimmering woods,

'Tis the time with power to bring

Tearful memories of home
To the sailor wandering

On the far-off barren foam.

What a still and holy time !

Yonder glowing sunset seems
Like the pathway to a clime
Only seen till now in dreams.

Pilgrim, here compelled to roam,

Nor allowed that path to tread; Now when sweetest sense of home

On all living hearts is shed,

Doth not yearning sad, sublime,

At this season stir thy breast, That thou canst not at this time Seek thy home and happy rest?


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Some murmur, when their sky is clear

And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear

In their great neaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,

If but one streak of light,
One ray of God's good mercy gild

The darkness of their night.

In palaces are hearts that ask,

In discontent and pride, Why life is such a dreary task,

And all good things denied.

And hearts in poorest huts admire

How Love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.


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Thou cam’st not to thy place by accident,
It is the very place God meant for thee;
And should'st thou there small scope for action


Do not for this give room to discontent;
Nor let the time thou owest to God be spent
In idly dreaming how thou mightest be,
In what concerns thy spiritual life, more free
From outward hindrance or impediment.
For presently this hindrance thou shalt find
That without which all goodness were a task
So slight, that Virtue never could grow strong :
And would'st thou do one duty to His mind,
The Imposer's-over-burdened thou shalt ask,
And own thy need of grace to help, ere long.


I say to thee, do thou repeat
To the first man thou mayest meet
In lane, highway, or open street-

That he and we and all men move
Under a canopy of love,
As broad as the blue sky above;

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain,
And anguish, all are shadows vain,
That death itself shall not remain ;

That weary deserts we may tread,
A dreary labyrinth may thread,
Thro’ dark ways underground he led;

Yet, if we will one Guide obey,
The dreariest path, the darkest way
Shall issue out in heavenly day;

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