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Daily near my table steal,
MARINER'S HYMN. — Mrs. Southey:
Launch thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee;
Good angels lead thee!
Tempests will come;
Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather bow,
Breakers are round thee;
Shallows may ground thee.
Hold the helm fast!
There swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman?
What of the night? "Cloudy, all quiet, —
No land yet, — all's right."
THE TWO ESTATES.
Be wakeful, be vigilant, —
Danger may be
Securest to thee.
How! gains the leak so fast?
Clear out the hold, —
Heave out thy gold; —
Now the ship rights;
Lo! the red lights.
Slacken not sail yet
At inlet or island;
Straight for the high land;
Cut through the foam; —
Heaven is thy home!
THE TWO ESTATES. — Mary Hmeilt.
The children of the rich man, no carking care they know;Like lilies in the sunshine, how beautiful they grow! And well may they be beautiful; in raiment of the best, In velvet, gold, and ermine, their little forms are drest. With a hat and jaunty feather set lightly on their head, And golden hair, like angels' locks, over their shoulders spread.
And well may they be beautiful; they toil not, neither spin, Nor dig, nor delve, nor do they aught their daily bread to win. They eat from gold and silver all luxuries wealth can buy; They sleep on beds of softest down, in chambers rich and high. They dwell in lordly houses, with gardens round about, And servants do attend them if they go in or out.
They have music for the hearing, and pictures for the eye, And exquisite and costly things each sense to grat
ify. No wonder they are beautiful! and if they chance to die, Among dead lords and ladies, in the chancel-vault, they lie, With marble tablets on the wall inscribed, that all may know The children of the rich man are mouldering below.
The children of the poor man, around the humble doors They throng of city alleys and solitary moors. In hot and noisy factories they turn the ceaseless wheel, And eat with feeble appetite their coarse and joyless meal. They rise up in the morning, ne'er dreaming of delight, And weary, spent, and heartsore, they go to bed at
78 THE TWO ESTATES.
They have no brave apparel, with golden clasp and gem; So their clothes keep out the weather, they 're good
enough for them. Their hands are broad and horny; they hunger and
are cold;They learn what toil and sorrow mean ere they are
five years old. The poor man's child must step aside if the rich man's
child go by;And scarcely aught may minister to his little vanity.
And of what could he be vain ? — his most beautiful array Is what the rich man's children have worn and cast away. The finely-spun, the many-hued, the new, are not for him, He must clothe himself, with thankfulness, in garments
soiled and dim. He sees the children of the rich in chariots gay go by, And," What a heavenly life is theirs!" he sayeth with
Then straightway to his work he goeth, for, feeble though he be, His daily toil must still be done to help the family. Thus live the poor man's children; and if they chance to die,
In plain, uncostly coffins, 'mong common graves, they lie;
Nor monument nor headstone their humble names declare; —
But thou, O God, wilt not forget the poor man's children th ire!
THE TOWN AND COUNTRY CHILD.— Cunningham.
Child of the country! free as air
Art thou, and as the sunshine fair;
Born, like the lily, where the dew
Lies odorous when the day is new;
Fed 'mid the May-flowers like the bee;
Nursed to sweet music on the knee;
Lulled in the breast to that glad tune
Which winds make 'mong the woods of June;
I sing of thee; — 't is sweet to sing
Of such a fair and gladsome thing.
Child of the town! for thee I sigh;