Ah! of all the usurers that ever lend,
The usury of Vice shall never end;
A pleasure lent, or purchased at its cost,
Once due to it, the debt is never lost;
But, like a blood-hound, or an Indian's blade,
The track will follow when the trail is laid.
Yet boast not, Vice, at such o'er-weening power,
For man hath still one great Redeeming hour,
Which all the power of Satan could not sway,
Nor all the fiends in Hell could ever stay!
One finger ever beckons from the sky
To catch with Love the wandering sinner's eye,
And open arms, the outcast to receive,
Are stretched by Truth, which whispers to Believe.
No arduous task the Son of God requires,
To save Sin's victims from eternal fires,
Though lit on Earth, the fire which Conscience blows,
Ah! who can tell if ere again it close?
Or fathom Misery-the lost soul knows?
The barbed remorse which festers in the soul
May rankle deeper when beyond the pole,
Where even Christ, with all His will to save
On Earth, becomes our Judge beyond the grave!
Such thoughts are deep and dark, and not for man,
Whose Conscience bids him live as well's he can,
What though, perchance the flesh should lead astray?
Repent at once, sincere and secret pray.
Do this in fuith, leave the result with God!
Has he not power? have faith, and kiss the rod.
Then cheerful trust Him, whistle on your way,
And steer between the gloomy and the gay;
Have faith in God, although you sometimes fall,
For faith is boundless, or 'tis none at all—
Boundless for good, as black Remorse for ill,
For what were man bereft of faith and will?
X.
Hie me to him, however poor his birth,
Who fears his God, but not a soul on earth;
And views the forge, the mallet, or the plane
But tools of Adam, which his bread must gain ;
Justly contented with his sphere of life,
His home, his children, and his faithful wife!
Sees not beyond his own domestic fire,
Cause for Ambition, or more foul Desire ;
Lets Kings and Courtiers scramble as they may
For greater favour or for greater sway;
His hardy frame by Temperance made strong,
Content and cheerful, but afraid of Wrong,
His pillow ever prove a welcome guest
For healthful slumber and refreshing rest.
No toil to rise up in the morning gray,
While blackbirds whistle and the lambkins play,
Tis then a walk, or trip to scenes close by,
Please better than the Alps or Indian sky-
His children happy, is his chiefest joy,
His cheerful family is gold without alloy.
And as they toddle by their mother's side,
More lovely far to him than blooming bride,
'Tis then a daisy plucked with childish glee,
Worth all the opals of the Indian sea;
And as in joy they roll upon the bank,
In God's name who would change for Wealth and Rank? Sure none but Envy, or the drunken fool,
Who Freedom sells that Pride and Sin may rule.
Yet, such the mind of him-the eldest born-
The fratricide, who trampled down in scorn,
Peace, Love, Contentment, Virtue, Pity, all!
Each virtue of Mankind before its fall,
By envious Pride, was here, with blood-stained heel,
Hurled from its socket like a broken wheel;
First fired by Satan, envious Passion rose,
And armed with murder, Cain dealt Abel blows,
Which hissed like serpents through the outraged air,
Till Rage exhausted, vanished on Despair-
Then headlong tumbled like a broken spear,
As gales 'quinoxial rule the cycled year.
Low in the dust the buried fragments lie,
all the greater as the Crime was high;
Stern Justice plunged in overwhelming Care, And made his sentence more than he could bear.
So fell the King of Pride on Dura's plain,
Who strove to mimic God, but strove in vain,
Hurled to the dust his golden image lay,
While he was driven with the brutes to stray—
Licking the dew that bathes the grassy mead,
And doomed with oxen like a beast to feed;
So shall it be the fated doom of all,
For Crime and Pride must ever dread a fall.
But see poor Hodge there, as he journeys nigh,
With step elastic and with beaming eye,——
Ha! what spies he waiting at his cottage door,
Which makes that happy face still beam the more?
See! where she comes, a matron with such smile
As well might purchase half the world's guile ;-
And hark what sounds like Heavenly music greet?
The thrilling patter of his William's feet.
Sweet! sweetest music of Domestic Joys,
The blissful pleasure of his girls and boys;
No wonder that of such Heaven's Kingdom is,
When here on Earth they make such perfect bliss!
Go! selfish Vice, and worship narrow Self,
Leave Hodge his Happiness! he spurns your pelf!
"Count all the advantage prosperous Vice attains,
'Tis but what Virtue flies from, and disdains,
Sweet health doth live with Temperance, alone,
And Peace, O Virtue! Peace is all thy own!"
"He laid his head down on them with the sullen dejection of the overburdened lama, when it throws itself down to die in desperation."
"Death finds us 'mid our playthings, snatches us
As a cross nurse might do a wayward child,
From all our toys and baubles; his rough call
Unlooses all our ties on earth;
And well if they are such as may be answered
In yonder world where all is judged of truly."-Old Play.
"My harp is turned to mourning, and my organ into the voice of them that weep."-Job xxx. 31.
sweet wee Johnny toddled
Wi' bare bit pow and pinafore;
Three summers on him hadna shone
When last he left his mither's door.
Fast! by the braes-alang the burn
He wandered, plucking gowans fair,
And chasing bees at ilka turn,
His wee, wee mind was centred there.
eager as ambition's soul,
On truant pinion cleaves the sky, (Away from heaven's just control,) He chased the flitting butterfly.
Ay eager in his gleeful chase,
As he who hunts an empire down;
Or, led by tyrant Avarice,
Destroy their peace for poor renown.
One object only drew him on,
To chase the bee, or flitting fly,
Now at his hand, next moment gone-
As swift as Pleasure flashes by.
No fear of danger checked his course,
With childish glee he swept along;
Too pure in mind to feel remorse,
Too young to know the right from wrong.
Like worldly man, on riches bent,
Or chasing wanton, fickle Fame!
He never dreamt to what extent
That Pleasure lures life's transient game.
Just as the sea-boy springs on high,
And gains aloft the dizzy top;
He mounts the shrouds with laughing eye,
But trembles when he dares to stop.
When panting on that dizzy pole
He sees the yawning billows flow,
Them Terror claims his reeling soul !-
His brain swims round, he falls below.
So Reason, with relentless force,
Again resumes impartial sway,
And, looking backward, finds Remorse.
Had chased their gilded flies away.
For hours wee Johnny toddling went,
From flower to flower, from fly to fly,
Until he turned and homeward bent,
With wearied limb, and weeping eye.
He lost his way, and down a dell
Where gowans bloomed and sweet-briers grew,
He fell 'mongst what he loved so well,
And breathed his last 'mongst violets blue.
Next day, alas! his mother ran
And searched the burn and spangled lea,
And there at last, with cheeks so wan,
She found wee Johnny stiff and blae!
His little head on gowans leant,
A blue-bell waved above his face, The primrose cast its sweetest scent, As if to mock that waeful place!
And as the zephyr rustled by,
And sun shot down his cheerful ray,
One ugly, buzzing, loathsome fly,
Proud settled there to claim its prey.
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