My dear little lady, that very white hand,
Which fondly you cherish, with sorrow I scanned;
I knew by its fairness, and baby-like skin,
A stranger to labor it ever had been.
It sweeps o'er the harp with magical sway,
Producing sweet music, which e'er can allay :
Employments like these, though they give you delight,
Are poor preparations for poverty's night.
Could you hem a cravat, or gather a skirt,
Or stitch round a collar, or cut out a shirt?
Have you yet attempted to handle a broom,
To wash up the teacups, or dust out a room,
To stir up a pudding, or roll out a pie,
To season a sauce, or marketing buy?
Though these occupations for you are quite new,
For delicate hands there is something to do;
The brow of the sufferer they softly can bathe;
The limb of the wounded they gently can swathe ;
The child and the aged can tenderly lead,
And give the relief that the indigent need;
The tears they can wipe of affliction and care,
And, fervently clasped, be uplifted in prayer.
I LOVE to see thy gentle hand
Dispose, with modest grace,
The household things around thy home,
And each thing in its place.
And then thy own trim, modest form
Is always neatly clad;
Thou sure wilt make the tidiest wife
That ever husband had.
No costly splendors needest thou,
To make thy home look bright;
For neatness on the humblest spot
Can shed a sunny light.
THERE doth she sit that same old girl
Whom I in boyhood knew;
She seems a fixture to the church,
In that old jail-like pew!
Though e'en in youth, I think, she must
Have had an old-like way.
How prim, and starched, and kind she looks,
And so devout and staid,
I wonder some old bachelor
Don't wed that good old maid!
She does not look so very old,
Though years and years are by
Since any younger she has seemed,
E'en to my boyhood's eye.
That old straw bonnet she has on,
Tied with that bow of blue,
Seems not to feel Time's changing hand,-
'Tis " near as good as new."
The old silk gown-the square-toed shoes-
Those gloves that buckle's gleam,
May I, when age its furrows deep
Has ploughed upon my cheek,
Behold thee in that pew, unchanged,
So prim, so mild, so meek!
"They also serve, who only stand and wait."
RIVER, why dost thou go by,
Sounding, rushing, sweeping?
River. Lake, why dost thou ever lie,
Listless, idle, sleeping?
Nought before my power could stand,
Should I spring to motion!
River. I go blessing all the land,
I show sun, and stars, and moon,
On my breast untroubled.
River. Ay! and wilt thou not as soon
Make the storm-clouds doubled ?
Lake. River, river, go in peace!
I'll no more reprove thee.
River. Lake, from pride and censure cease; May no earthquake move thee!
Lake. Speed thee! speed thee, river bright!
Let not earth oppose thee!
River. Rest thee, lake, with all thy might,
Where thy hills enclose thee!
River, hence we're done with strife,
Knowing each our duty.
River. And in loud or silent life,
Each may shine in beauty.
While we keep our places thus,
Adam's sons and daughters,
Ho! behold, and learn of us,
Still and running waters!
WHAT is memory? 'Tis the light
a ray profound
Upon the brow of mental night-
An echo, time the passing sound-
A mirror; its bright surface shows
Hope, fear, grief, love, delight, regret —
A generous spring-a beam which glows
Long after sun and star have set
A leaf, nor storm nor blight can fade-
An ark in time's bereaving sea —
A perfume from a flower decayed –
A treasure for eternity!
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