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MY GOOD RIGHT HAND. I fell into grief, and began to complain ; I looked for a friend, but I sought him in vain ; Companions were shy, and acquaintance were
cold, They gave me good counsel, but dreaded their
gold. “Let them go," I exclaimed : “ I've a friend at
my side, To lift me, and aid me, whatever betide. To trust to the world is to build on the sand:I'll trust but in Heaven and my good Right
My courage revived, in my fortune's despite, And my hand was as strong as my spirit was
light; It raised me from sorrow, it saved me from
pain : It fed me, and clad me, again and again. The friends who had left me came back every
one, And darkest advisers looked bright as the sun ; I need them no more, as they all understand, I thank thee, I trust thee, my good Right Hand !
THE LABOURER'S NOON-DAY HYMN.
Up to the throne of God is borne
Nor will He turn His ear aside
What though our burden be not light,
Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
Why should we crave a hallowed spot ?
Look up to Heaven ! the industrious Sun
Lord ! since his rising in the East,
Help with Thy grace, through life's short day,
TO A BUTTERFLY.
Stay near me—do not take thy flight!
Dead times revive in thee;
My father's family!
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
THE MOTHER'S RETURN.
A month, sweet Little-ones, is past
Since your dear Mother went away, And she to-morrow will return;
To-morrow is the happy day.
O blessed tidings ! thought of joy !
The eldest heard with steady glee ; Silent he stood : then laughed amain,
And shouted, “Mother, come to me!”
Louder and louder did he shout,
With witless hope to bring her near ; “Nay, patience ! patience, little boy !
Your tender mother cannot hear !”
I told of hills, and far-off towns,
And long, long vales to travel through ; He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed,
But he submits; what can he do?
No strife disturbs his sister's breast;
She wars not with the mystery
The bonds of our humanity.
Her joy is like an instinct, joy
Of kitten, bird, or summer fly; She dances, runs, without an aim,
She chatters in her ecstacy.
Her brother now takes up the note,
And echoes back his sister's glee; They hug the infant in my arms,
As if to force his sympathy.
Then, settling into fond discourse,
We rested in the garden bower: While sweetly shone the evening sun
In his departing hour.
We told o'er all that we had done,
Our rambles by the swift brook's side Far as the willow-skirted pool,
Where two fair swans together glide.