FORGIVENESS.

WHEN on the fragrant Sandal tree
The woodman's axe descends,
And she who bloomed so beauteously,
Beneath the keen stroke bends ;

E'en on the edge that wrought her death,
Dying, she breathes her sweetest breath,
As if to token in her fall,

Peace to her foes, and love to all.

How hardly Man this lesson learns,

To smile, and bless the hand that spurns;

To see the blow, and feel the pain,

But render only Love again!

This spirit not to earth is given;

One had it but He came from Heav'n;

Reviled, rejected, and betrayed,

No curse He breathed, no plaint He made;
But when in death's deep pang He sighed,
Prayed for His murderers and died.

James Edmeston.

THE LILY

How withered, perished seems the form
Of yon obscure unsightly root!
Yet from the blight of wintry storm,
It hides secure the precious fruit.

The careless eye can find no grace,
No beauty in the scaly folds,
Nor see within the dark embrace
What hidden loveliness it holds.

Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales,
The lily weeps her silver vest,

Til vernal suns and vernal gales

Shall kiss once more her pregnant breast.

Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap
The undelighting slighted thing;
There in the cold earth buried deep,
In silence let it wait the Spring.

Oh! many a stormy night shall close
In gloom upon the barren earth,
While still, in undisturb'd repose,
Uninjur'd lies the future birth;

THE LILY.

And Ignorance, with sceptic eye,

Hope's patient smile shall wondering view; Or mock her fond credulity,

As her soft tears the spot bedew.

Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear!
The sun, the shower indeed shall come;
The promised verdant shoot appear,

And Nature bid her blossoms bloom.

And thou, O Virgin Queen of Spring!
Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed,
Bursting thy green sheath's silken string,
Unveil thy charms, and perfume shed;

Unfold thy robes of purest white,
Unsullied from their darksome grave,
And thy soft petals' flowery light

In the mild breeze unfetter'd wave.

So Faith shall seek the lowly dust,
Where humble Sorrow loves to lie,
And bid her thus her hopes entrust,

And watch with patient, cheerful eye;

And bear the long, cold, wintry night,
And bear her own degraded doom,
And wait till Heaven's reviving light,
Eternal Spring! shall burst the gloom.

Mary Tighe

THERE was an eye, whose partial glance Could ne'er my numerous failings see; There was an ear that heard untired What others spoke in praise of me.

A LAMENT.

There was a heart time only taught
With warmer love for me to burn;
A heart whene'er from home I roved
Which fondly pined for my return.

There was a lip which always breathed,
E'en short farewells in tones of sadness;
There was a voice whose eager sound
My welcome spoke with heartfelt gladness.

There was a mind whose vigorous power
On mine its own effulgence threw,
And called my humble talents forth,
While thence its dearest joys it drew.

There was a love, which for my weal
With anxious tears would overflow;

Which wept, which pray'd, for me, and sought
From future ills to guard-But now!

That eye is closed, and deaf that ear,

That lip and voice are mute for ever;

And cold that heart of anxious love,
Which death alone from mine could sever:

And lost to me that ardent mind,

Which loved my various tastes to see;
And oh of all the praise I gain'd,
His was the dearest far to me!

Now I unloved, uncheer'd, alone,
Life's dreary wilderness must tread,
Till He who heals the broken heart
In mercy bids me join the dead.

O Thou! who from Thy throne on high,
Canst heed the mourner's deep distress;
O Thou! who hear'st the widow's cry,
Thou Father of the fatherless!