r- \ F. LAWliEMCE, HALIFAX. i .fe- ^ 7^ THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OE CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HOURS OF PASTIME. HOURS OF PASTIME; TEMPERANCE AND OTHER PIECES. BT J. J. LANE, BRIGHOUSE. BRIGHOUSE : A. B. BAYES, PRINTER AND STATIONER, " GAZETTF " OFFICE, 1878. PREFACE The contents of this volume are, for the most part, reprints from Monthly and other Journals, contributed during the past few yeai's as " Hours OF Pastime." As the collection shows a preponderance of Tem- perance Pieces, it may be well to state that the object of the writer, in placing them before the pubUc, is that Christian people and others, into whose hands they may fall, who have not con- sidered the claims of erring brethren and sisters upon their sympathy, may be led to abandon their views of Moderation, and join, with clean hands, those who labour for the removal of omr national vice. 8S1915 CONTENTS PAGE, Angel and Little Ethel, The 31 Autumn Leaves 72 A Call to Duty 51 Condemned 81 Count de Vigny and his Captives 18 Death of the Old Year 80 Delirium Tremens 44 Drunkard's Death-bed, The 17 Drunkard to his Wife, The 73 Dying in Spring 24 England Awake ! 38 Fatherless 75 Flora Gray 31 Idol of Britain, The 26 Infinite Love sustained, and nourished, as they need. Enduring hunger, and privation, keen, Who Wy^)ne word of power, thousands fill'd ; At whose rebuke, diseases turn'd abash'd Away ; the blind, their sight received ; the deaf Heard sounds harmonic ; and the lame Leap'd like the hart, or danced for very joy. Who abdicated royalty-supreme, A kingly throne, and sceptre, fadeless crown, Might and praise, the homage of adoring Myriads, for a garden cold and damp, His only mantle, lowering, midnight clouds. 10 Who wept, who groan'd, who sweat great drops of blood, Press'd by the burden of a guilty race. Who bdnt beneath man's load of sin, — whose arm \ iT^holds the balance of revolving worlds. At whose fiommand, and for whose pleasure, earth's Forests clapp'd their hands, and starry hosts sang Anthems loud and long, to their primeval cause. Belaid, accused, arraigii'd, condemned : before Whose righteous bar, all powers, dominions, Potentates, and men of every colour. Clime, and tongue, shall hear His fiery interdict. He dies, a malefactor, as a man Too base to live, unworthy meanest care Or pity ; — yet of life the Source, from whom All life proceeds, on whom all life depends. He dies, stupendous scene, transcendant love : Dies that the dark, chill, monitory grave By light ineffable, immortal, may Be lit, — a golden portal to the skies. / Dies, — that the sinner, lost, depraved, debased, A mass of putrefaction in the sight Of God, — by this all-crowning act of love Be ransomed from a yawning hell, black with The horrid crimes of untold centuries ; Where groans incessant rise, from spirits damned. Conscious that dread enormity of sin Is stamped for ever, on their guilty breasts Pregnant with unextinguishable fire. Oh ! love 1 surpassing thought, immense, complete, God reconciled to man, and man to God. 11 WINE: A SEQUEL. Oh ! mark that woman crouch'd upon the floor. Beside the embers scattered, ahnost dead : Hast not thou seen that slender form before. In days still sacred, tho' for ever fled ? Canst not thou trace upon that marble brow, And by those tresses of rich auburn hair — See in those eyes, tho' sadly altered now, The ling'ring remnants of a lady fair ? *Tis she, who once upon the verdant lawn. Or in the dell, or 'long the mountain side. Gambol rd anon, as sportive as the fawn — To all a pleasure, and of all a pride. But, ah ! her life was like a summer stream. Whose surface glitters with a golden dye ; Or like Elysian raptures in a dream — Delight a moment, then as swiftly fly. Bright was the morn, and soft the zephyrs blew, The birds sang cheer'ly on each leafy bough. When twain, this lady and her lover true, At Hymen's altar breathed the nuptial vow. The feast was ready, and the board was spread With all that wealth and honour ever gave ; Goblets were fill'd with foaming liquid red, But none with water from the crvstal wave. 12 Tarn to that woman now your wandering eyes, From her inquire the sequel, true as sad ; Approach in jntj, nor in words despise, 'Twould rend her heartstrings, or 'twould drive her mad. Short is the story, little will suffice To quell the throbbings of an anxious heart ; Nor unpretending, — suffer the advice To sink full deep, and never thence depart. "Ah! little dreamt I on that happy day," Her plaintive story she did thus begin, " That 'neatli the wine-cup, though unseen, there lay A path to ruin, and a gate to sin. *' Nor did I dream, as jovial song and jest Made laughter echo i>hrough the spacious hall, *Twas but a warning to the thoughtless breast, A mocking requiem to our future fall. " Alas ! alas ! soon came the bitter hour : The sun had gone few years his destined course E'er William fell beneath the demon power, A reckless victim to our country's curse. " Down, down he fell ; what was endear'd before — His home — his wife — his child — were all forgot ; For tender words and smiles he growl'd and swore, Forsook his mansion for a drunkard's cot. 13 " Oil ! when 7 turned to give one ling'ring gaze, One last long look on all so dear to me — Those haunts I cherished in my childhood days, And which T now would give a world to see ; " I could not bear, and yet T could not weep — Tears were too weak my anguish to explain ; I felt a wildness round my reason creep, 'Twas madness hov'riug o'er my fever'd braiu. " But wherefore wonder, when arouTid I saw Some who had known mc turn and pass me by ; Leave me to perish on a bed of straw. Without a tear-drop, and withont a sigh. " 0, God I to think I'm in the world alone — My child lies sleeping in its little grave ; And he who won me, claimed me for his own, Deserted hence — the villain and the knave. " 'Tis AVTong to curse him — sure it will not last : He yet may be a sober man again, And love me still — and I — forget the past ; But no, he will not come — my brain, my brain. *' Oh ! leave me now, yon know the doleful tale, Once young and careless, ever free and glad ; Now lost in shame, and left to starve and wail — Tempt me no more, lest I indeed go mad." 14 LITTLE DEEDS. There was a flower with drooping head. As though it soon would die, "When lo ! a cloudlet slowly sped Beneath the expansive sky. The flower looked very feebly up. Half-conscious aid was near, As deep into its yellow cup The cloudlet drop]/d a tear. There was a worm nigh to the spot ; A thing we oft despise ; But He who made us counts it not Unworthy in His eyes. Exhausted on a sandy heap It struggled long in vain ; But soon recovered strength to creep, Through little drops of rain. And may not we, by words and deeds, As time and seasons roll, Give life by plucking out the weeds "Which choke some brother's soul ? A spoken word in simple love Will break a heart of stone ; A whispered prayer will rise above, Like incense round the throne. Oh ! Christian brother say no more There is no work for thee ; Knock gently at thy neighbour's door ; He claims thy sympathy. 15 A soul redeemed from earthly dross, From sinful pleasures riven, And centred on the blood-stained cross, Is one more won for Heaven. RAGS AND TATTERS. Rags and tatters, rags and tatters, Where we go it little matters ; Down the alley, along the pavement. Through the square. Every village, town and city, Crowd before us scenes of pity. Degradation, foul dishonour. And despair. Oh, the sights that often meet us, And the shocking words which greet us. From the filihy who about us Wildly stare ! Rags and tatters, rags and tatters. How their feet the pavement patters. Almost noiseless, helpless, shoeless, Full of sores ! Strangers pass too proud for giving. Though in lordly state are living ; On they press with mien imposing — Close their doors ; 16 Never once a moment thinking, While their ruby wines are drinking, Of the thousands pining, dying, On cold floors. Kags and tatters, rags and tatters. How the sight my feeling shatters ! Since I know that from the barrel Springs the shame. How the men consume their measure. Join in frolic, laugh, and pleasure ; Crying children, and their faithful Wives disclaim. Then appears the evil dawning, When the drink compels to pawning. Urges on at length to part with Honest name. Eags and tatters, rags aud tatters, Thro' me this conviction scatters : If all men would do their duty Right and well ; Speak the truth with bold endeavour. Shrinking from their purpose never, Bacchus and his fiendish army Meet — repel ; Strike with bold determination. Till from ours and every nation, Drink, the demon, should be driven Back to hell. Then as chaflF the tempest scatters, So would fly the rags and tatters. 17 THE DRUNKARD'S DEATH-BED. The midniglit liour had struck, I ope'd the door, 'A dingy door which led into a cell, Where lay upon a bed of naked straw The dying drunkard whom I knew full well. Nor wife, nor children lingered round his bed, Nor friend, nor old associate was there To bathe and cool the fever of his head, Or hear him breathe a last imploring prayer. Alone he lay ; the deeds of three-score years Before his startled vision pass'd him by ; He groaned aloud, for they awoke his fears. Yet cursed the thought that whispered death was nigh. I bent me down, and in kind words and low. Spoke of the land where myriads happy dwell ; Then gravely warned him of the gulf below. Where guilty conscience knows a changeless hell. " Speak on, speak on" ! he cried, as wild he toss'd His suppliant hands in fervent prayers to heaven ; " Speak on, bat say not, that my soul is lost. There still is time for me to be forgiven. " Time left for me : oh, yes, 'tis true, I feel What others foul as I have felt before. Soft strains of mercy through my spirit steal, Which bid me welcome to that blissful shore. 18 "All the dark deeds which plagued my failing sightv Whilst here in groans and misery I lay, Have been dispel I'd as are the shades of night, When gleams the first faint sunbeams of the day.'* He seized my hand, and pressed, I felt a chill Run through my hands, and paralyze the core ; One deep long sigh, one look, then all was still, — From sin, death, hell, to glory ever more. Who seek Thy face, Lord, in early youth, And never tread the drunkard's downward road, Thrice blest are they in purity and truth, Through life, in death, and round the throne of God. COUNT DE VIGXY AND HIS CAPTIVES. The following incident is a sad reality taken from a work entitled «• Light and Shades of a Military Life ; " edited by Sir Charles Napier, formerly commander-in-chief in India. The captain of a brig-of-war was ordered to set sail with two political prisoners, and, as he sup- posed, to convey them to Cayenne, where other exiles had been despatched. He took sealed orders with him from the Directory, which were not to be opened until he reached the Equator. In tho- coarse of the voyage the captain and the young couple (an officer and his bride) became much attached to each other, so much so that ha resolved to abandon the service, and with what fortune he had endeavour to effect their release and alleviate their sufferings. When the Equator was reached, and the sealed packet opened, he found to his intense horror that the young soldier was to be shot, and 19 his fair bride conveyed back to France. The time fixed, she is taken away in a boat while the tragedy is being acted out upon her husband 5 but she sees the flash of the musket, her heart tells her too plainly of the fatal deed. Keason fails her at the moment, and she remaint 9 maniac for life. Upon the deck he stood, erect with folded arms, He read the scroll of blood, nor shrunk from death's alarms- " Then be it done, I ask not life, nor liberty from thee ; One favour, captain, brin^^ by wife to speak adieu to me : 'Tis all I dread with quivering fear, this one brief hour of woe. To tear me from a life so dear, while villains urge the blow, " 'Tis all I ask, a brief embrace, a kiss, a tear, A glance to find relief, and fit me for the bier ; I've struggled for my country's weal, her glory and renown, Have felt the foeman's sharpest steel — hurl'd from my courser down. Oh I rather had I bravely bled, 'mid groans of those who fell. The eagle on my body fed, than suffer this farewell. " Go, bring her here to me, my Laura, fond and true, Once more to look on thee — a liug'ring last adieu ; How will thy woman's spirit bear to know our earthly bliss Is swallow'd up in blank despair, since I am come to this ? The hopes, the joys of future years our mutual loves have cherished, [have perished." The jocund smiles are lost in tears, and all those dreams His eyes were red with fire, his teeth were firmly set, Yet not with desperate ire, but writhing, soul regret. His was a noble, gentle heart, and oft that grace reveal'd, Tho' dauntlessly he played his part in thickest of the field ; 20 Mild as the sea in summer hours, unmoved by feeblest waves, Then fierce as when the storm-cloud lowers and ocean opes her graves. " I would from duty shrink and mercy's claims bestow, But it is thine alone to drink this cup of woe," Then deep affection wildly rent, drove manly strength away, To earth, in agony he bent, and vainly strove to pray ; The captain thoughtfully, sadly gazed, revolting at the crime Before him now, nor less amazed with passion so sublime. The fatal hour was past, he read again the scroll — The writ that seemed to cast, a stigma on his soul. *' Brave youth, prepare," the captain spake in tones of saddest gloom, " Fain would I now the task forsake, acquit thee from thy doom Forgive, forgive, tho' 'tis not I needs pardon plead of thee ; By my weak hand thou hast to die — thrown to the voiceless sea." Alas ! for Laura, she the beautiful, the fair, Was borne away to sea, forbade the scene to share. 'Twas midnight now, the heavens were dark, the stars had sunk to sleep. And all around the unseen bark was silence awfully deep ; She strove to pierce the darkness round — it was a frantic stare — Strain'd she her ears to catch the sound of muskets in the air. 21 It came ; then ghastly pale, swift to her feet she sprang, And uttered forth a wail that through the midnight rang — A fearful wail that filled with awe the terror-stricken crew ; " Js this the recompense of war, this for a courage true ? What ! hurry squadrons o'er the plain, see foe on foe expire? What ! feel the steel, and mark the stain, to meet a despot's ire? " I know his fate," she cried, " tho' ft-om the bloody deck Dragged hence unknown, denied to clasp him round the neck, And look into those loving eyes, so'often on me cast, To hear his sweetest accents rise, his dearest and the last. Oh ! to have seen thee, heard thee speak, and felt thy latest breath, I could have borue to hear thy shriek when in the arms of death. " Oh ! cruel, murderous fate, inhuman base decree, To leave me desolate, without a look from thee. What is my hope since from thee torn, my own, my faithful one, A heap of ruined years forlorn, a world without a sun." She gazed again into the dark, then press'd her burning head, She smiled as tho' she saw the bark, and then her reason fled. 22 THE WOMAN IN RAGS. ABRIDGED. Once, I remember, I met on the flags Helpless and wretched, a woman in rags. Dark was the night, and fearfully cold. The hour of twelve had dolefully toll'd : Methought as I heard its echoing sound Another voice came from the still, around ; I sought unwearied about on the flags, Then spied in a corner a woman in rags. ** Have mercy," she cried, as her eyes a-glare Were centred on mine, — 'twas a look of despair ; " I'm cold, — I'm freezing, — I starve, — I die, — Have mercy and heed my pitiful cry." A dull street lamp shone from a little a-pace. Which ope'd to my view that form of disgrace ; (jrod ! what a picture, can I forget ? It crowds o'er my brain and mem'ry yet, Like a phantom of dread 'pears to my sight The scene I beheld that horrible night. " Why stare at me thus, you've seen me before, And dear were the ties which bound us in yore ; We've sported together on sward and hill, Wandered through meadows with childish will. *' Few years on the tide that happily flows, And gleams with a lustre fortune bestows. Were mine to enjoy ; then over my head Storm-clouds collected and murkily spread. 23 The fierce tempest burst : I was driven from home, A child in my arms, the cold streets to roam : The people looked on, but spat at my name, Scoffed till I fell to 'unfortunate' fame. I've wandered long in this pitiable plight, All through the day and the dark of the night. Begging of each with tremulous breath Pittance to hinder a suicide's death : — * No, no,' they all say, ' she revels in gin With felons and sots and women of sin ; She's one of the vile who canker our race. Cast on the nation reproach and disgrace. Who allure the young from virtue and right, Nor quit them till lost in infamy's night.' ** Ah ! when of the past I ponder and think, — In moments apart ft-om the terrible drink. Away from the crowd, lude lovers of crime Who live for lucre and trifle with time ; — I weep o'er my sins, the years so mis-spent In folly and vice ; I fain would repent. Bend with remorse at the foot of the tree. Plead with the Saviour who suffered for me : I know of the Cross — His Immaculate name, With pity He yearns for the woman of shame. You think me gone mad. What ! could I not go To the Fountain of love, which for sinners did flow j Be pure as the babe who just from the womb Is stricken by death, and laid in the tomb. Aye, e'en so could I be cleansed and forgiven, Enter in peace to the rapture of heaven. 34 Those are my thoughts when away from the den "Where all are immoral, both women and men Corrupted, and driven to misery's brink ; Through quenchless passion for terrible drink." Take heed to the tale, tho' sad it is true ; And even as stars in yon heaven of blue, Have numbers unknown been thrown o'er the brink For ever to dwell with the author of drink. Still there are thousands uncounted to save, Speeding their way to a premature grave. Oh ! Christians awake, nor slumber till all Filling the cup of iniquitous gall Shall dash it to pieces,— the drink demon hurl'd Far from the country and out of the world. DYIXG IN SPRING. Will you lift me from my bed, mother, And put me in my chair ? I long to see the village green, The children sporting there ; I long to see the rugged hills, where Oft the slopes I trod In happy ]\Iay and sunny June, to muse Alone with God. I long to hear the cuckoo lisp her strange Mysterious notes. And songs, so artless, glad and new Come from a thousand throats. 25 The sky is bright and fair, mother, The flowers are all awake, The sun is sending showers of gold o'er Garden, field, and brake. How hard to rend affection's cords, and Beauty such as this ; But what are eai'th's delusive joys To heaven's eternal bliss ? Ah, soon shall I be gone, mother, From scenes I cherish here. The little pleasures which I love, the Friends whom I revere ; My brothers and my sisters too, forsake Them each and all. Responding to the sweet behest — the Saviour's gracious call. Oh ! when they lay me in the grave You will not for me weep. Recall this blessed thought, mother, I am Not dead but sleep. Come, put me gently down to rest, I must be dying now. My sight is dim, and gathering fast are Cold drops on ray brow. To Edward, Alfred, and Janet, — say Marion Bade good-bye. And left a aister's parting wish, — to live As they would die : Oh ! bid them yield their all to Him Who lived and suffered pain, Then succumb'd to a shameful death For their immortal gain. 26 I hear a faint, melodious sound, A spirit's welcome voice, — A convoy sent to bear my soul Where myriads now rejoice : It bids'me haste from mortal flesh, With my Redeemer dwell. One more caress, another kiss, Oh 1 mother dear, farewell. THE IDOL OF BRITAIN. You tell me that our native land from pagan sin is free. We do not worship other gods, like countries o'er the sea ; You bid me look, and count the spires all pointing to the skies. From whence the sacred psalm is sung and prayers diurnal rise ; You bid me watch each Sabbath morn, the crowds that wend their wav, — The young and old, the son and sire, to sing those psalms and pray. It may be true — alas ! it is — that thousands of the band Attend the sacred house of God, with Holy Book in hand. Who read the Word, and sing the hymn, and yet who never feel A sense of Jesus' pardoning love through every fibre steal, tell me not, though reverent looks bespeak a pious soul. All are sincere and live to reach the final, happy goal ; 27 For some adore the god of gold, and otliers bow to fame, Who fain would sell their honour bright to win a paltry name ; And some in adoration low appear at beauty's shrine ; But who can number out the host who serve the god of wine ? A moment pause. Behold that man, he wjis of gentle birth. And once a nobler form than his did scarcely grace the earth ; But where is now his high estate, his flowing fortune now ? The noble form, the look of pride, the clear expanded brow ! ■Gone, ever gone, and whither fled ? fearful thought ! to think His once good name is bartered to the evil god of drink ! Alas, alas, not only men become his reckless prey, The ftiirest forms of womankind his ruling wand obey ; He waves his magic sceptre high, and millions 'ueath it fall,— The matron in the lowly shed, the lady of the hall ; Those, too, who are of tender years, together sadly sink, Become the vile inebriate slaves of him, the god of drink. Then tell me not our native land from pagan sin is free. While mothers, daughters, sons, and sires to Bacchus bend the knee ; And point no more to spire and dome, where Christians constant meet, While temples of the demon god are fonr.d in every street. Go raze those temples to the dust, destroy the god of wine ; Then bid each heart tm 1 tongue adoi e the Triune God divine. 28 TEMPERANCE AND LIBERTY, WRITTEN SPECIALLY FOR THE GRAND FESTIVAL OF THE BISHOP AUCKLAND TEMPERANCE SOCIETY, Held in the Town Hall, Oct. ilst, ^ 873. Thrice welcome here, I hail you ! we all of us rejoice, And hail you here as Christians ia one harmonious voice ;. It fills our hearts with gladness, and we are bolder men, To see you Christian people all gathered here again. We come and stand before you on this our festal night, As soldiers for a conflict, in armour for the fight ! The foe is on before us, we can his powers feel. And we are come to meet him with weapons sharp as steel. "With noble hearts and purpose we little dread the foe. He yet shall be o'er-trampled and feel a mortal blow. We come to tell you what has been, and is, and yet shall be, Ere Britain's sons and daughters from cruel bonds are free ; We come to warn you of the snares, beset about your way By cruel men, and heartless men, who never knelt to pray ! We are also here to tell you of gallant battles won. As on its course from day to day the orb has swiftly run. Since last we met you here, as now, tho' short has been the time. The list is long of drunkards claimed, and others lost in crime. Many homes are happier, and children better fed, But many more are gloomy, thro' drunken husbands dead. Oh ! shame upon thee, England, and on thy liquor laws. To let thy widow'd mothers weep and not espouse their cause; Oh ! shame upon thee, England, to stem the briny waves, To other lands, their fetters break and free the captive slaves, And then return with laurels rare, to coolly fall asleep, And let thy mothers cry aloud, thy sons and daughters weep ; 29 TVe praise thee for thy mighty act, to wrest the tyrants' chain. Proclaim those countless numbers free, free as the boundless main. Yet shanic ui)on thee England, to do so great a deed, Then fall asleep, while millions more were groaning to be freed ! Awake ! oh i)ride of all the world, awake ! nor idly dream, Rouse all thy dormant energy to quell this awful scream. What, dost thou hear them ? not asleep — no, no, thou wert not so, — We will not chide — thou hearest all, but wilt not strike the blow, [reel, " Not yet," thou sayest, " 'tis not time : I will make Bacchus And all his host in after years, with weapons sharp as steel, Rouse first the people every one, prepare them for the fight, Then we will march upon the foe and battle for the right." The time is near, we know it ; the " Church" is in the field. Determined to defend the cause, nor ever flinch, nor yield ; And those who in the pulpits preach in "Chapels" far and near, [been here. Have shown their mind and sympathy, or would not have There is the '•' British "Workman," where men an hour can spend. In conning news, and playing chess, or converse with a friend; You are welcome British Workmen to hie there when you please. Your leisure hours to pass away, and linger at your ease : No drink is there to liarm you, yom- manliness to slay. And fire your brains, and make your forms a terror by the way. Go, go, and you are welcome, and other comrades tell. Entice them from the dramshop, it is the way to hell. 30 We've had some worthy veterans our wounded hearts to cure. That we may in the future imposing ills endure ; You've heard the good old General, ah ! would that he were here, [cheer, — That T might see, and you might see, and give a hearty Long health, long life to General Dow, the bravest of the brave, [slave, "Who fought with sword and bayonet to free the colour'd And then with heart invincible, 'gainst pressing ills and strife. Has fought, and still is fighting, to free the drunkard's wife^ You know of Whig and Tory, of Radical and Blue, Oh ! heed not party politics, but this I would you do, Stand firm by our good General with an undaunted will ; And vote for him who votes for you, that we may have the Bill For which Sir Wilfrid long has fought, and yet will fight again, That England too may have a law the people have in Maine. Now for the little children who form the Band of Hope, You know not of the dangers with which we have to cope : Oh ! blessings on your little hearts, and may you never know. May never feel affliction's smart, or depth of human woe ; But may the bark of life with you float on a silver tide, To bask on pleasure's sunbeams, and ever calmly glide. — Oh! blessings on your parents too if they be listening there, Who teach you every night and morn to clasp your hands in prayer. Oh blessings on each reverend sage, and all who love the truth. The rich and poor, the hoary head, and form of rising youth : 31 And may you all with one accord arouud our banner cling, The venom'd foe uproot and 8eize, then rob him of his sting. That few the years ere all of us with songs of hearty glee, Shall make our dear old England, a country truly free. THE ANGEL AND LITTLE ETHEL. An angel roamed thro' Eden's bowers, . Inhaling odours sweet, And while he scanned its groups of flowers. Espied one — incomplete. " A snowdrop in the bud ! " — away To earth the angel sped. And ere the breaking of the day. With little Ethel fled ! Then back again to Eden's bowers, This budding snowdrop bore ; And placed it in the group of flowers. So incomplete before. FLORA GRAY. 'Tis sad to think that man should be Led captive by impetuous will ; Choose for his course a treach'rous sea, Instead of waters clear and still. 32 For life at longest is but short, Directed to a final goal ; And each has an immortal soul, Which with the blood of Christ is bought, That none need perish, sink so low, To share eternity of woe. If they would only pause and think. While standing on life's narrow brink — If they to higher heights would climb, Care less for sordid pleasures here, • But contemplate the things sublime Which point beyond a brighter sphere. Into the world went Flora Gray, Eager to free herself from home ; From parents, glad to be away, And through a friendless city roam, A drunken father beat her sore. And scarr'd her fair, untainted brow ; Her cruel mother cared not how Each blow he gave pierced to the core. They once were kind ; in years gone by Their home was like a summer sky When nought obscures the spacious blue. A jarring word they never knew Until the wine-cup on the board And in the closet found a place ; It stole what life can ne'er afford. And left them ruin and disgrace. 33 She wandered far did Flora Gray, Amid the city's glare and din, Treading her tired and weary way, Through the dread elements of sin. The vile and lost around her press'd, And oft at even lay in wait To rob her virtue, and create A quenchless fire within her breast. But all in vain ; from door to door She begged her daily scanty store ; Yet from her lips oft burst the cry. In tones of anguish : " that I From this dark wilderness of woe Might lay me down and sink to rest ; The wild flowers above me grow, Where deep reclines my peaceful breast."' It chanced, an evening in the spring, A time when zephyrs softly fan, " And birds their native ditties sing, To soothe the troubled mind of man, — A stranger to a lonely spot His way betook, in quest of calm And respite from the world's alarm. When lo : by a forget-me-not A case he spied, with silver bound : He instant snached it from the ground. Curious to know if in were hid A secret treasure, ope'd the lid ; 34 He started back, then look'd again, And by a sterner impulse led, A ring and locket seized, and then Some such simple note he read : — " Stranger or friend, which e'er thou art^ Who to this unfrequented spot May come with sad or joyous heart. Touch not the blue forget-me-not ; But take these trinkets lying here : The ring and locket, all that I Can leave to earth before I die, And bathe them both with pity's tear. For they were his, he gave them me To keep when I was girlish free. He will, I know, my crime forgive, I cannot, dare not, longer live ; A wither'd, wretched outcast now. Driven by cruel blows away From home, fi'om life ; they cared not how Nor what befel their Flora Gray." He sought around, and near a pool A kerchief and a bonnet lay, And there beneath those waters cool. All that was left of Flora Gray. The village people throng'd to see ; And many, many tears were shed. Ere gently in her quiet bed They left her 'neath a willow tree. 35 The girls from scliool, in idle hours. Planted their sweetest, choicest flowers ; But ofc at even, throngh the trees, Came softly fluttering on the breeze, A fancied voice wliich made them shrink, And turn with heavy hearts away : ** Whoever quaft's the madd'ning drink, Drinks deep the blood of Flora Gray." THE OLD MAN AND THE STRANGER. I STOOD at the open window, Reflecting on times gone by, Recomiting my joys and blessings, By orient gems in the sky. Then tracing the hand of mercy, In shadows which gathered afar ; Obscuring hope's golden future, As clouds each beautiful star. When, lo ! while I stood and pondered. Upon youth's unguarded day. An old man came to the lattice. His beard all tangled and grey. He told me a strange, strange story, Of things he had seen and heard ; From the awful wholesale slaughter, To the secret unkind word. 36 Oh ! strange was the tale he related, And yet so deplorably true, Of misery, crime, and dejection. Debauchery, devilry too. He'd been in the midst of famine. Where children were dying for bread ; Then into the homes of plenty. Where others on luxuries fed. Where even the dog 'neath the table. Was given the best off the plate ; Unheeding the cry of the wretches, Who pleaded for crumbs at the gate. He'd been in the den of the harlot — The hovel of consummate sin — The nearest abode of lost spirits, Where torments eternal begin. Oh ! shame on the nation, he muttered. To sanction such horrible lust ; Would God, she heard for a moment, The groans of inanimate dust. The curse of those spirits deluded. On statutes which suffer the trade. And license its shameless upholders. Their victims to rob and degrade. He spoke of the brave vv-ho perished. Far on the billowy wave ; Of men who deep in the darkness, Shut out from all human aid. 37 He spoke of the Blcepless vigil, Bent over some dear one's bed, Soft fanning life's fading embers — Repeating the last words said. He spoke of the sad processions Convoked by the iron bell ; To follow the silent leader — Who led where the silent dwell. Yet think not, the old man muttered, And gave me a cheerly look, There are no delightful stories Recorded in mem'ry's book. See, in the hazy distance, A youth with nimble feet, Majestic, fair, and ruddy, — Away — the stranger greet ! Tread in the path of duty, Resign to each chast'ning rod ; Those who are sore afflicted Are well beloved of God. Thus did the old year vanish. Worn out with age and care ; But hurried on the stranger. Majestic, young, and fair. I paused o'er him departing, Let drop the big, bright tear ; Then turned and gaily bounded To greet the glad new year. 38 ENGLAND AWAKE! England awake ! oh awake from tHy sleeping — Greatest of nations and land of the free ; Awake, thy women are sighing and weeping, They feel a curse is over thee creeping ; Awake ! awake ! they are calling to thee. England awake! for the cry is appalling; Arouse thee, their hearts are filling with dread ; Hark ! from the mansion and cot they are calling, It may be a son or a daughter is falling A prey to the curse which hangs o'er thy head. England awake ! shall the poor drunkard's dwelling Stand on the soil a memorial of shame — Shall those who against thy laws are rebelling, Who for the wine-cup their honour are selling, Unheeded pollute and tarnish thy name ? Wilt not thou wake from thy slumber to feeling. Still cherish the laurelg thou gainedst of yore ; Remember the widow in suppliance kneeling, Have pity ! attend the orphan's appealing, Their hunger and helpless condition deplore ? Hush ! did ye not hear it ? the voice of her waking. Yes, it has sounded all over the land, Proud Bacchus has heard it, his heart is breaking, Trembles with terror — his throne is shaking, Reeling like fabrics whose base is but sand. 39 Daughters of sorrow, ye children of mourning Arise, and dispel your feeling of pain ; England hath heard you, and heeded the warning, Rejoice and be glad, the summer is dawning, The curse on the nation shall never remain. THE LITTLE BASKET CHAIR. Upon a little basket chair How sadly does a mother stare — The tears fall fast ; Grave memory flutters high on wings, And o'er the matron's visage flings The aching past. Once in that vacant basket chair, Her cherub child and ouly care, Six summers old, Was wont to prattle by her side. Its earliest thoughts in her confide, And charms unfold. As Phoebus in the distaut blue, His golden glories spread anew. Day after day ; Its sweet and happy voice was heard Warbhng like some melodious bird, A simple lay. 40 She press'd it to her tender heart, -^I And felt how keen 'twould be to part ; A crnel loss ; — '-I Oh ! rather leave her smiling home, - x\nd hungry through the city roam. Than bear the cross. But as she gazed upon the child, Anon caress'd with passion wild, So warm, so deep ; Dreamt not that it would droop and fade, And very soon be lowly laid, Where many sleep. Alas ! for her, ere leaves were sere And hoary winter did appear. In sullen pride, Death came in haste on subtle wing And pierced it with his deadly sting. Deep in the side. How lone she stands ! those eyes are dim Which beamed with mother's love on him Who filled the seat. She listens for the song he sung, And startles tho' she heard his tongue. Or nimble feet. Then turning from the painful nook But not without one ling'ring look, As sorrow can, Convinced at last that life below Has joys, but they are mixed with wt)e, The whole a span. 41 LUCIA. I KNEW her once, the theme of this sad tale, The joy of parents, and deU^^ht of kin ; Affection breatlied for her a summer gale And as the summer did her life begin, A lovely child a lovelier maiden grew, Her deeper passions ever grew apace ; Admirers flattering, vowed they never knew An equal rival in the gentler race. It was an eve of sweet and holy calm, The sun still lingered in the glowing west, And through the grove of varied elm and palm Diffused a glory over nature's breast. The night-bird i)iped its soul-inspiring song In ears to which such music was a spell ; Till half in earnest, though it may be wrong— " List, 'tis a spirit singing in the dell." At such an hour, to this enchanting spot Fit bower of Cupid— sped a happy pair To cull the pale blue-eyed forget-me-not. And watch the minnows in the streamlet there. On, on they went, forgetful of the time. Until the stars reflected in the stream Beneath, and the dear old familiar chime From the grey tower awoke them from their dream. She fondly loved, as only woman can : Revealed in every action, word, and sigh, A deeper love than germinates in man, A flame too warm to flicker low, and die. 42 Alas for Lucia, as they left the grove, E'er Luna shed her first refulgent beam, A youth romantic, given much to rove, Heard in the wood, not far, a maiden scream. 'Twas but a trivial thing, so passed away. Like any sudden fright or fancied foe. Or fancied spectre, that will cause dismay. Before the simple learn to wiser grow. He thought no more, as tho' it ne'er had been, When unexpected, 'mid the busy throng, A lady stopped, inquiring had he seen A fair-haired slender maiden haste along ? He learnt at length : not many months before A gallant youth bad won her Lucia's heart. And, by the sorry look the lady wore. He read the story of a treach'rous art ; Then, moving on, he thought and thought again — All ! yes, it might be ; yet how strange 'twould seena, If, when alone he wandered through the glen. This was the maiden he had heard to scream. Too true, alas ! the lady whom he met Was Lucia's mother, seeking her — defiled, The one abandoned and disgraced — her pet ; Lucia, her own, her cherished, favoured child. But gone she knew not, no one ever knew, — Though long the search through alley, street, and square ; Hope fled at last, the mother feebler grew, And feebler still, urged on by secret care. •13 Years rolled aAvay ; one dull Deccral)er night, The snow had fallen thick upon the ground ; With here and there a kind of drowsy light, To break the darkness prevalent around. Cheered by the lamp, while pacing to and fro, — Near to the home where Lucia's mother wept, And often turned her wistful look below, — A faithful watchman nightly vigil kept, Lo ! as he stood, he traced beneath the wall. Deep in the shade, upon the open flags, A figure covered with a cloak or shawl, Huddled together like a heap of rags. Oh ! God, the fright ! a woman frozen dead — "Wrapped in her arms a child as stiff and cold — A vial emptied of a liquid red — Her ghastly face — their tale of horror told. "Who was she ? whose the child ? and what their name ? Whence had they come and how ? he could m t tell ; And as he muttered, forth a ladv came, Feeble and aged ; — she stared, then shrieked end fell. " Speak to me, darling — tell me that you live ; Isor wring my heart" — she cried in anguish wild ; " Kiss me once more, I will the Avrong forgive. My froward lost one — Lucia — oh. mv child." 44 DELIRIUM TREMENS. Who said I'm mad ? — how dare you mock me so, — 'Tis burning fever firing out my brain, — 'Tis prostrate weakness, folly, — and you know, — Ah, ah, he comes to torture me again, Take him away, — the grisly monster death, — I will not die, my hour is not yet come ; — My scorching tongue, — this thirst, — it draws my breath- Give me rum ! Give me rum ! ! Where is my wife ? they tell me she is dead. That I have killed her,— shame — it cannot be, — I loved, she knew I loved, and — oh my head — See, there they come, all colours, one — tw^o — three. What ! is that Lucy, father's little pet, Come hither darling, bless him ere he sink, — No, no, I will not, dare not slumber yet ; — Give me drink ! Give me drink ! ! Come to my arms ; I shall not hurt the child, So like his mother ; — is it true she's dead ? Tell me again, 't can only drive me wild, — Down in the lobby, murdered, — someone said. Who was it ? Quick. I did not kill my wife — Bring me the hatchet, — show me the bloody stain,— I loved too well, — we never came to strife, — Oh this pain ! Oh this pain ! ! Ah 1 how the days of childhood hover round, And youth's glad dream as joyously appears, I see my comrades in the old playground. The friends I cherished in my younger years, Thrice happy youth, to inuiihood's blighter dawn, The sweetest period 'lotted man below. Still linger on — stop — stop — my throat is torn. Let me go I Let mc go 1 1 Begone, I say, ye devils, I»l:iek and grim, You ugly green one, with a long sharp claw, Give me the goblet running o'er the brim, To slake my thirst, — 'tis fnll of human gore. Take them away, nor plague me with the sight, There's thousands, millions, altogether cramin'd, They hold me fast, — they drag me into night, — I am damn'd ! I am damn'd ! ! Where is the bottle, for I'm mad with thirst, — I am all on fire — give me rum to drink, — Or whisky proof — I know that I am cursed — Will not last long — down — down — down — I sink ! Wliere am I driven, this is not my room — 'Tis like the hole where tortured spirits dwell, — Let loose : ah ! how they gTin, — my God, — my doom. This is hell ! This is hell ! ! THE MISSION. ADDEESSED TO THE CONDUCTORS OF TOWN HEAD MISSIOlff, BISHOP AUCKLAND. Tho' superstition, unbelief, and crime Cast their dire stigmas in the face of time. Aided and nursed by priestly fear and sway— • From whom a nod suffices to obey ; 46 Tin ' pope and prelate still retain command, And holy fathers stalk about the land, Hold prayers and masses, make a bold pretence To absolve the guilty for the sake of pence ; Tho' Christian truths — the gospel, simple, pure — Have all these stern opposers to endure. The standard hoisted, and the flag unfurl'd, Jesus the ensign shall possess the world. We liave a mission, unto us are given Immortal spirits to direct to heaven ; The monster Satan, with his subtle arts Employs a legion to dispense his darts, Who shoot, — and men, weak of themselves alone, Sink into chaos with a hideous gToan. 'Tis ours to rescue with unfaltering zeal. To labour on until the callous feel. Until the hearts through countless follies stained, From earliest years in fear of penance trained. Confess delusion, and the fetters break, The powers of priestcraft heresy forsake. We have a mission to preserve, defend. Cherish and love, and wisely to extend ; Then let not pride appear in costly dress. Govern presumption, pomp of words suppress. Ungenerous acts, discord, and wrong desire, The base ambition to be soaring higher ; But let us all like Jesus humbly tread. Soft rays of meekness all around us spread ; 47 Kind and forgiving, careful not to chide, With patience ever smiling by our side, That they may see, nor shun to own our name,— Forget their hunger, and dispel their shame. God bless our mission, weak indeed were we Unless fresh vigour ever came from Thee ; Fill every heart with Thine unerring love, And pour the holy unction from above. The children bless : oh ! may they fill the place, And joy to worship at the Throne of Grace, That when tve go 'twill be no serious loss, — Themselves lead sinners to the Saviour's cross. Then onward strive, the young and aged teach, "With hope rekindled, still inspiring each. That as king time on his swift chariot rolls Our God shall bless us with abundant souls. PRAYING MOTHERS. " The prayer of the faithful availeth much." The sailor boy upon the sea, When winds have ceased their hissing. The waves their roar, which filled with awe Each gallant heart an hour before. To ripples calmed, and silently The vessel sides are kissing ! When thus subdued, the deep profound. And o'er its surface gleaming, From heaven afar, so clear and round, The silver lights are teeming ; 48 The sailor boy, while others sleep, Their anxious fears to smother, Thinks of the day he turned away, Exultingly to dare the spray ; But hot tears to his eyelids leap. As he remembers mother. The soldier who on battle plain, Had only dreamt of glory ; Is stricken low, by spearman foe, He feels his life-blood quickly flow, And writhes beneath his dying pain. Upon his bed so gory ; The ghastly forms of comrades near. More dread alarms awaken ; His fading sigh discerns the bier, On which the corse is taken ; ,rew moments left — yet no one there. Nor priest, nor friend, nor brother. To watch him die, and hear him cry For mercy from the God on high ; And long-wished consolation bear. To his devoted mother. The wretched girl, to virtue lost, A prey to vice and passion, With wily feet, parades the street, Her purpose silly men to meet, — Weak men, who never count the cost. In pleasing girls of fashion ; 49 Alas ! slic clinks her lilthy gain, Then hurries to the revel, Where women of a darker stain, Sing praises to the devil ; But ah ! amid the horrid shout, From one and then another, The jest obscene, and worthless spleen, A fancied murmur comes between, — 'Tis sudden guilt, she rushes out, Saved through a praying mother. Oh ! when from home, and happy haunts. And human ties which bind them. The young would learn to love, not spurn, A mother's prayer, their souls would burn. With gratitude, and many taunts From cruel men, which find them, Dispelled ; as the remembrance grows — A mother thinks about them. And prays, distressmg wrongs and woes May ne'er have power to rout them ; Oh ! if there be one name more dear To me than any other Of greater worth, in all the earth, — The name of her who gave me birth, And did with tenderest patience rear, — The fond, sweet name of Mother. 50 SPRING FLOWERS. Beautiful flowers of early spring, Glad is the message to me yon bring. Where deep the snow On hillock lay, Now green blades glow With genial ray ; And througli the valley bare and drear The streamlet wanders bright and clear . From tree to tree Again is heard The native glee Of singing bird. Nature revives — 'tis early spring ; Welcome the message to me you bring. Beautiful flowers of early spring, Twofold the message to me you bring" ; Like hopes that cheer Life's dreary hours Do you appear, Beautiful flowers. The drifts of sorrow pass away, The barren heart again is gay ; No longer chill Through many wrongs. From lips once still Come happy songs. Beautiful flowers of early spring. Beautiful hopes to me you bring. 51 A CALL TO DUTY. Canst thoii behold the penury and woe, The dreadful carnaj^e of the liquid ibe ? Canst thou behold, witli nn iffected gJize, The wreck of manhood ui its brii^hter days? Hear'st thou unmoved tlie soul distracted cry. The stifled sob and deep continuous sigh. Of the lone mother in her cheerless cell, When she doth i:)our, to where the siuless dwell In bowers Elysian, all her secret care, And pine to be a virgin inmate there? And canst thou pass on each succeeding day The ragged ones in filth that round thee play. See their feet covered o'er with m my a sore, Turn in disgust, and of them think no more ? Oh ! canst thou see and heir, and never feel The sting of conscience through thy bosom steal ? Is all thy better, nobler nature dead, That nought can move thee to a sense of dread— Nought make thee shudder ? —for a moment pause. Consider Heaven and its sacred laws. Turn and behold, where'er thine eyes alight Are fearful traces of the deadly blight. Drink crawls along, as serpents subtle roam. And seizes man in every cottage home — Bewilders first with fascinating charms, Assures retreat from ruin's wild alarms — By many an art the soul doth gently wean. Whispers anon of pleasures yet unseen. 52 Until, poor dupe, too far allured to trace His former steps, he sinks into disgrace ; Beneath his manhood, yea, beneath his birth, Low as the senseless quadrupeds of earth. Go, stop the man, who thus down ruin's hill Is swift descending with impetuous will ; Go, bid him fly : with kindly words implore That he return to honor's path once more ; Nor leave him then, but as a faithful friend, With him his dangers and his fears contend : And when temptation shall perform her part, With many a wile upon his dubious heart, Support his weakness, never let him fail ; Though hard the combat, he will yet prevail. Heaven bless thy labours, may the people be Thrice blest in owning such a friend as thee. Tho' silent long, to every duty strange. Thousands shall wonder and applaud the change, Shall stand amazed to hear thy tongue disclaim The foe to wisdom, and the cause of shame. PARTING. 'TwAB nightfall, not a sound was heard Without or from within, save now and then The rustling of ivy, sheltering some bird Seeking refuge from the dark and lonely glen. 53 So still, so holy was that hour, and yet Full of the bitterest offerinfrs of the heart — The depth of human anguish — for had met Two young impassion'd loves in death to part. He was a youtli whose broad expanded brow, And glistening eye, bespoke a brilliant mind ; He had a spirit that could never bow To bold pretension and the mock refined. To save the lost and elevate the low Debased of men was his chief, highest aim ; A noble forte for one so young to show. Without the false ambition for a name. Prostrate he lay, upon a curtained bed, Resign'd to meet the last dread act of all ; To speak adieu to her he should have wed, "When fruit hangs richest o'er the garden wall. That long disease which ever stealthfully creeps. As doth a venom'd snake along the sward. Had laid him there — a faithful mourner weeps, To watch ihe snapping of life's silver cord. A lady young and beautiful to see, Whose inner charms more lovingly surpass'd The beauty visible — gentle, bland, and free, Unchanged in deep devotion to the last. 'Tis grief for mother thus her child to meet, A brother meet a sister — friend, a friend ; But, oh ! the anguish, and the swelling beat Of heart to heart, when deeper passions rend. 54 She softly laid her hand upon his brow, Eeclined her foim, his latest gasps to hear ; Gazed in those eyes less bright, and ardent now As though bedimm'd with sorrow's silent tear. He moved his lips, — she heard, as feebly came, The ling'ring outburst of a fervent love, " Say, when I'm gone, wilt thou forget my name, The vows we plighted in the shady grove ? "Wilt thou forget, b* L ved, the New Year's Eve, "When each to each new promises confess'd ; That nought should rise to make the other grieve. Or cause one pang to perturbate the breast. "Can'st thou forget eacli hallow'd sweet communion Of bliss reserved in one unbroken train. Through future ages of our earthly union, All fled for ever, tho' recalled again ? "When I am gone— as 1 shall very soon— Where angel's music lauds the Triune God ; Wilt thou p'-rform this task— a simple boon, Bring odorous flowers and bestrew my sod? I know thou wilt — strange wish, yet not to thee — And now another ere our souls are riven ; Say, while we part, I shall remembered be, And thou wilt come to love again in Heaven." 55 WHAT DO YOU DO? What do you do ? is a query whispered in the heart and ear By the still small yoicc of conscience, heedless of the listen- er's sphere. What do you do in the conflict, in the thick of mortal strife : On the side of truth and virtue, elevating human life ? Is the cross of Christ the standai-d you have proposed to defend ; Pointing lost, dejected creatures to that more than earthly friend, Does the widow's prayer and sorrow move you to some gracious deed, And the orphan's cry of hunger urge your pity in their need. That is noble, that is godly, and may blessings fall like dew — Nothing, did you say, and mean it ; nothing that you care to do? Is an honest heart within you, or is worth and feeling fled ? I am not my brother's keeper. Oh ! consider what you said. See that wretch in yonder corner, in an ebriated state ; Know you not he once was numbered with the wealthy and the great ? Have you never strove to raise him fi'om the filthy mire and clay — Eaise him, that the sparks of genius may not die in waste away. 56 Is he not a fallen brother ? is there not a kindred tie ; Speak a word to him of kindness, pass not with a scornfal eye. Nothing. Turn, and down yon alley, watch her staggering to and fro ; In her arms a babe is screaming from its mother's shameful blow. Once her heart was as the lily, or the snow-flakes pure and white ; Round her gathered streams of gladness, every moment more delight ; Till the cup o'er-flowing tempted, binding with its subtle smell, First enticing, then enthralling, then forbidding heaven for hell. Look around, and scenes of horror fill the soul with deepest dread, Thousands are unhap'ly dying on the drunkard's woful bed. There are hapless, fallen women, — there are rile and reck- less men, — There are starving little children ; go and speak a word to them. Kindly words and acts, how humble, — well performed aud simply said, Like heroic deeds shall cluster garlands for the victor's headt Oh ! then each be up and doing ; stay the rushing tide of vice. Turn towards the banner waving, with its new and strange device. 57 *'Wliat do you do?" [up and follow iu the track the faithful hie ; Do wliat duty here assigns you, — reap the iiarvest bye aud bye. Life is ebbing, time is fleeting, then will sound the trumpet blast, When the soul from body severed, will approach the judge at last. " What did you do ? " much or little, as your earthly course you trod. Nothing ; will you dare to answer, at the awful bar of God. SAVE THE FALLEN. Save the fallen, save the fallen ! Up to duty, brother, save ! There are thousands, countless numbers. Hastening to a drunkard's grave. There are homes which once have feasted Unreserved from plenty's store, Stricken, ruined, and by hunger Guarded at the open door. Oh, the hearts that now are aching, And the pulse that wildly beats, From the gTeat within the mansion To the beggar of the streets, — Aching, beating for some loved ones, Whom they see, from day to day. Revel with the wily Bacchus, Till at length they fall his prey. 58 Up to duty ! up to duty. As a warrior, brave and true : There are deeds of noble daring For the nation yet to do ; Therefore, with undaunted spirit, Every brother of the clan, Up, nor waste one fleeting moment, Labour for the cause of man ! NO HOME. Ko home where cheerful fagots bum, And ample board is spread ; No matron waits her lord's return. Or children hear his tread. Death stole an entrance through the door And seized upon his prey ; The mother sank to rise no more Until the judgment day. The father next a victim fell To death's terrific stroke ; Then home affection's sacred spell Was into fragments broke. Four orphans left to mourn their fate. And through the cold world roam ; To bear its scorn, its frown, its hate, Because they have wo home. .09 Oh ! Fatlier-Clod, thy pitying eye Let watch the orplians' tear, And when no eartlily friend is nigh To succour or to cheer, Thy spirit bid in words divine Bind up the hearts tlius riven, For Thou has promised all of Thine A changeless home in Heaven. r-ATRTOTISM. •Old England, we love thee, we sing to thy praise. Thy valour and justice in earlier days ; Thy mercy for captives all groaning in pains. Fast bound and tormented with slavery's chains ; Their cries of imploring awoke thee to feel. To strengthen thy sinews and weapons of steel ; Our fathers were eager for pity inspired, The scom-ge of the tyrant their energies fired ; The slaves who rejoice as the sons of the free. Own with emotion their freedom to thee. Old England, we love thee, but weep when we think. Though free from dread conflict thou'rt captive to drink ; The glory of ages is swallow'd in shame, The garlands bequeathed as a tribute of fame, Are fading away through that terrible blight, And gathers the gloom hke the shadows of night : 60 The blood of the faithful is sunk in the dust, The once brightened steel is now lying to rust ; But a mightier foe with a bloodier hand, And a deadlier weapon is sweeping the land. Old England, we love thee, but shudder with dread At the sight of slain corpses all over thee spread ; The widow and orphan have pleaded in vain, The tears of affliction have fallen like rain ; The lord and the peasant are sadly bereaved, The church of the godly is sorely aggrieved ; Grave justice, empower'd to free or condemn, "With blushes confesses the folly of men ; And even the drunkard, who trembles to think. Has urged thee to trample the enemy " drink." Old England, we love thee, — as patriots mourn, To know thy dishonour, fit subject of scorn ; ! rouse thee from slumber, fell Bacchus defy, Let the shout of the nation resound thro' the sky ; Charge on the temples uprear'd to the god, Besiege and lay waste to the pitiless sod, The throne of the monarch tho' rich in design, Is full of pollution with bottles of wine ; Upheave it and scatter to every wind, Nor leave the usurper to triumph behind. Old England, we love thee ! our love is complete, "When we plead for the orphan who wanders the street ; The weak and endanger'd to folly and sin, — Reclaim the degraded, those drinkers of gin ; 61 "When we gatlicr the young, as shepherd his sheep, Preserve them from harm and as tenderly keep ; England ! awake, in thy power and might. With us as thine army away to the fight ; '* To arms " be the cry — unshaclde thy chains, " To arms and to victory," thy glory remains. J. MOSEI.EY, TE^TrFP.NKCE MIPf^IONARY BISHOP ALCKLAND. (with a presektatiok.) Soldier of Temperance, leader of the clan," Whose purpose is to save the grovelling prey To drink — the fellest enemy to man — And raise them up, that in the glare of day. They once again may lift a manly head, Their names inscribe, and with a noble heart — A daring pride — and, by our Patriot led With courage dauntless, to perform their part.'' Oh ! would that all who temperance profess,— Who bend the knee in reverence and fear. And plead the Triune Eeity to bless The orphan children and the widows here — That they would shun the bitter cup of woe^ As they would shun a serpent's angry bite, And, by example, bid their offspring know It leads to ruin and eternal night : 62 Then, then would Albion, Christian Albion be. And not the subject of contempt and jest ^ Bj heathen nations scattered o'er the sea, And lands that slumber on the ocean's breast, Moseley, we come, at gratitude's command. To pay thee tribute in that tokeu there, Offered bj friendship's free, extended hand : Accept it, Moselej, and our feelings share. Thou well hast won the laurels thine to claim ; Still on pursue until thy latest breath — Till crumbling age, crown'd with an honor'd name. Shall gently yield thee to the grasp of death. THE WORKMAN'S HOME. How beautiful the workman's home When thiugs are clean and neat, The fire bright and hearthstone white, A chair with cushion'd seat. And slippers in the corner wai'm. Awaiting weary feet. How happy is the workman's heart. As through the wicket gate He sees her stand with open hand. His patient partner, Kate ; No angry words nor angry looks, Though near an hour too late. 63 The children run for father's kiss, And clap their hands with glee ; First bouuds young Jim, then Httle Tim, Then Maggie climbs his knee ; E'en baby tries to jump and shout, When father comes to tea. How peaceful is the workman's home. Free from domestic strife ; When pressing cares he gladly shares To ease his faithful wife ; And both together cheerfully drink. The bitter draught of hfe. How full of joy the workman's home. Though humble, poor it be. When they unite to do the right. Who form the family ; Their heart's affections entertwine, Like ivy round a tree. WHO CAN TELL ? See that infant softly sleeping On its downy curtained bed. Watch the mother fondly peeping. With a slow and noiseless tread ; And as thus she gazes on it, Breathes a short and earnest prayer. 64 "'* 0, may blessings rest upon it, Angels o'er it watch ^vith care. Shield it too ft'om care and sorrow, Keep its heart as pure as snow, Bring me many a joyous morrow. As it doth in wisdom grow." Will there not a wail of anguish Make her tender bosom swell ? "Will her child not droop and languish—" Who can tell ? Then how light and merry-hearted Is the youth who leaves his home, From his friends and kindred parted. On the trackless sea to roam. Hope adorns the future for him Brilliant to a high degree ; Fancy scattei's wild before him All that is beyond the sea. Wealth and honour, praise and glory, Friendship, happiness, and peace ; He shall list to love's sweet story, And his joys shall never cease. But e'erlong, ah ! does he think it, There may rise a mighty swell. Beat against the ship and sink it — Who can tell ? We oft look beyond the present. Count the pleasures yet unborn, As the toilsome, hapless peasant Counts the value of his corn : 65 E'er the rolling orb of heaven. His diurnal race hath run, And the dew of balmy e\cn Have their work of duty done, Storms may come in giant power — Fill his heart with blank dismay, All the hopes of many an hour Like a night-dream pass away. We may, too, in life's young morning Feel a sudden blow as well — Fall without a moment's warning : AVho can tell ? Then with hearts together blending. Let us work and win a name ; England's laws and rights defending Eid her of her direful shame. Make her smiling sons and daughters Good and noble, just and free ; Live to Him who died and bought us With His blood upon the tree. Float His name to every nation. Under the eternal blue. And though poor and weak our station,); What we can that let us do. Living thus to God and heaven, We need httle fear the knell, Nor the solemn query given : Who can tell ? GG MAN THE LIFE-BOAT. Man the life-boat, man the life-boat. Hark ! above the tempest's roar. Louder than the billows rolling All along the trembling shore, Swells a sound of mingled wailing As of people sinking fast, In a vessel lost and shattered By the fury of the blast ; " Man the life-boat." Can ye hear them T Answer to their dreadful cry : To the rescue ! British seamen ; To the rescue ! or they die. Soon the life-boat forth is hurried, And her men with fearless pride. Brave as warriors in a conflict. Dare the dangers of the tide ; In the distance, on before them, Through the darkness of the night,. When the cry for help is rising. Gleams the pale and glim'ring light. They have seen it ! how it fills them "With a mightier strength to save ; On they rush to snatch their fellows From a cold untimely grave. But there is another life-boat, And there is another crew, Noble in its deeds of mercy, Daring as that faithful few ; 07 Fierce and loud the storm is raging, Making havoc o'er the land, Young and old together falling, Sinking fast on ev'ry hand ; Man the life-boat, temperance-workers. Hear the sad and woful cry ; To the rescue ! men and brethren ; To the rescue ! or thej die. SUMMER FLOWERS. Summer flowers, they come to cheer us,. Bud and bloom afar and near us ; Carpeting the earth with beauty, Filling air with odours sweet — Thus unconscious doing duty. Their Creator saw was meet. Summer flowers, they tell us kindly, In their mission done so blindly ; "We should ever be as lowly, Whether cot or palace born ; Work the will of Him, the Holy, And the Christian's path adorn. Summer flowers, they warn us plainly. And we heed it not disdainly ; Man a little while shall linger, Be like them of passing worth ; Feel the weight of death's cold finger,- Then return to mother earth. 68 MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. Ah ! Burn's, thy woftil tale is true, — The young, the prime, the gray, The pompous lord, the pious few. The stoic and the gay ; The classic sage of honor'd years. And genius in its pride, The dauntless man that never fears The fury of the tide ; And warrior who, on battle plain, Hath deathless laurels borne — All, all in doleful tones complain That " Man was made to mourn." The sun a thousand hills may crown, Cloud soon his. glory steals — A smile is oft a gentle frown — And love but hate reveals. Ambitious hopes are only reared On fancy's tieach'rous sand. And friendship feigns to be endeared. But yields a traitor's hand. Thus, sore perplexed, with many a sigh, The human heart is torn. And quivering lips rehearse the cry That " Man was made to mourn." The path of pleasure, bower of ease, And 'bode of social mirth. May claim a secret power to please, And add a joy to earth ; 69 But serpents lurk beneath the shade, As thorns Vjeliind the rose, Hence those who taste Hfe's sweets are made To also taste its woes. 'Tis here the solemn problem lies — Heed not the truth with scorn — . Th' inviting fruit that poison jiides Shows " Man was made to mourn.", And yet if life no sorrow knew, In all its vast employ, Succeeding years unchequered flew 'Mid unbeclouded joy, The soul to no remoter clime On eagle's wings would soar, To eager gaze from heights sublime The amethystine shore. Oh, Father ! every will control, Until we reach the dawn Of ages that eternal roll, And those who never mourn. A MOTHER'S LAMEXT FOR HER BOY AT SEA. I HAD a son, an only boy My bud of promise, chiefest joy And thought that nought could e'er decoy — My WiUi^.. I watched him from his cradle grow, And all the love which mothers know, On him did lavishly bestow — My William. Although a weakly child, my fear's Portentous gloom, and gathering tears Were quelled by hopes of future years — My William. Methought when youthful days were past. And he should rise to man at last, He would a blessing o'er me cast — My William. Alas, those hopes are blighted ; all Before me into shadows fall, He sees me not, nor hears me call — My William. Away from home, away from me, Upon the surging, briny sea, A storm- tossed mariner to be — Went William. Years roll between me and the day Which stole him from my side away. And turned these flowing curls to grey — My William. He still may live, and ploughs the main, And some day wander back again, But why not ease me of this pain — My William. 71 Oh ! cruel fate, oh ! hapless morn, It had been joy to see him borne By death from hence, than inly mourn, My "William. God grant, ere I am called from this Low vale of woe, to heights of bhss. One precious tear-bemingled kiss, From William. THE TEMPLAR'S PRAYER. Almighty God, whose searching eye The universe surveys ; The wonders of the earth and sky Unceasing sing Thy praise. The orbs of heaven that nightly shine- The birds upon the tree, And every oak, and elm, and pine, Continual sing to Thee. All nature ovras Thee as a God, And has since it began ; Nor aught rebels against Thy nod. But proud presumptuous man. Yes, he alone the' greater far. Of more intrinsic worth Than either sun, or moon, or star, Or treasm-e of the earth. 72 Is e'er in secret working ill, In dreams and through the day, Warring against Thy sovereign will ? Thine own eternal sway : Until the heart by sin defiled, Is fully torn apart, And he as humble as a child Accepts an infant's heart. Oh God, in mercy hear my cry, My rebel heart remove, That Faith may ope her timid eye To Thee enthron'd above. And Hope inspire the burden'd soul. Lest tried it fall and sink ; Become degraded by the bowl And ruined by the drink. And thus secure from Satan's net, Let pity speak to me ; That I redeeald may not forget The laws of Charity, AUTUMN LEAVES. WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF. Fading, fading in the sun On the parched trees. Softly, softly, one by one. Fall the Autumn leaves. i 6 Strength and beanfcy, •where are they ? Nature's robes, alas I Children with the remnants play On the tufted grass. How they sport amid the trees, Carelets of the hours, Merry all as humming bees On a bed of flowers. In the early spring of life Are those children now. Nought of care, or woe, or strife, Furrows yet the brow. Older, older, every year, Youth and vigour sped ; Soon to fade and disappear, Like the leaves they tread. THE DRUNKARD TO HIS WIFE. You remember when we were married What frolic, and laughter and cheer ; Remember the bowls that were carried Of spirits, wine, stout, and of beer ? "How generous the host and the hostess," So each to the other did sav ? But man should be careful and boastless, For pleasures oft die in a day. 74 When fortune smiled gaily around us, Our home, with all comforts, was dear ; "When ties of humanity bound us, "We dreamt not that danger was near. I thought not the wine on the table, That sparkled as gems in the sea. From honour and virtue was able To bring ruin and hunger to me. I scoflPed at the words of the preacher, Derided the thoughts of the wise. And turned from the face of the teacher, "Who bade me the liquor despise. But now, as I look on the present, The cupboard and table both bare. And crave for the things that are pleasant, Once mine in abundance to share ; If I the bright past could recover. And tread o'er my journey again ; Once more be a yo^th and a lover. From di'iuk I ^uld ever abstain. Since for that I have not the power. The past I will strive to amend ; The liquor I'll banish this hour, And right of cold water defend. 75 FATUERLESS. Waiting, watchiiiy by a tavern door, With shoeless feet upon the flags, And round his shape, encumber'd rags To shield him from the tempest hoar ; His couutenanee serenely mild, A docile thoughtful loving child, Whose locks were matted threads of gold,- A boy not more than ten years old ; But why so hite into the night He thus about the streets should roam? Ah ! can it be the deadly blight For him liad blasted love at home? Did he beside the " Eagk-'s Nest," The white down beating on his breast, A drunken father wait to guide, And guard him from the river side. He waited long, no father came, Trembling with fear he entered in, And scaun'd that scene of wanton sin ; His young face blushing deep with shame, " Is father here ? " he simply said — The bloated landlord shook his head ; " My little man he went from here Two hom's ago the worse for beer. Prythee, who sent you thro' the snow. The night is far too chill and wild ; 'Tis wrong of them to treat you so, A half-starved, slender, growing child ; 76 Were you my boy, a coverlet warm Should keep you from the angry storm, And slumber at this hour should close Your eyelids iu a sweet repose." " Oh, sir," the anxious boy replied, Unconscious of the rising jeer From burly ruffians drinking near ; " I came because my mother cried'; Our Nell we know is dying now. The big damp sweat is on her brow ; But ere her spirit soars on high She longs to bid us all good-bye." Tho' few the words, they hushed the song, The jest and hideous laugh was stayed ; Amazing stillness, deep and long, AVas proof they had the voice obeyed. Then one by one they left the den, A score of savage looking men, And as the folding doors they pass'd Vow'd each that night should be their last. Homeward he sped through snow and sleet. And nigh had gained his wretched cot, When lo ! he saw, he knew not what, But something dark beside his feet. He stopped, — he touched — it was a man, A thrill of horror instant ran Through every vein : — he strained his sight A clue to trace, he thought it might His father be. Alas, too soon He knew the figure he ha,d fouadjL 77 Emerging from a cloud the moon That moment gleamed upon the ground ; Father, come home, the night is wild, Speak to me, lather, 'tis yom' child." He brushed the snow flakes from his brow, To find himself an orphan now. SOXG OF THE DRAPER. Many of the readers of this lamentable ditty may probably feel inclined to deny its authenticity, but diapers' apprentices and assis- tants in metropolitan districts, and in a lar^'e majority of provincial towns, will agree that no exaggeration is embodied in this parody. AViTH fingers nimble and long, with features pale indeed, A draper stood, by shelf and pile, plying his '*' stick " with speed. Piece, piece, piece, mid calico-dust and smell, Yet still he sang this doleful song, I must reluctant tell. *' Toil, toil, toil, before eight o'clock in the morn, And toil, toil, toil, till the moon shines on the lawn ; 'Tis, 0, to serve beneath such merciless men as these, For health and strength are thrown away with ne^■er a moment's ease. " Talk, talk, talk, till the throat and tongue are dry ; Talk, talk, talk, with many a worthless lie ; ' 'Twill wear and wash I know, — I know t'will wash and wear,' Then look and wait to hear them buy, they only feel and stare. 78 " men, and ladies, too, you daughters fair and dear, ' Tis not your ' dress ' you come to buy, but only ' mess ' to rear. Talk, talk, talk, till the brain is in a whirl, — Stammering still, but all in vain, to please a choiceless girl. " But why should I be a slave, and why so thin and pale. While others around are free and brisk and ever hale ? Because I dare not speak, or my fate were doubly sure, And because of the meat, 'tis mine, alas ! so often to endure. *' Toil, toil, toil, my labour never ceases, And all for what ? — a little pelf, and meat in meagre pieces. And then the room, — an iron couch — a basin and a glass, — A dingy wall, — a dusty floor, with only space to pass. *' Toil, toil, toil, till the hands and feet are sore. Toil, toil, toil, like slaves on Afiic's shore ; Sweep, and block, and pile — pile, and block, and sweep, Till the weary frame nigh sinks at last, against the rising heap. " Toil, toil, toil, when the gas is burning bright, Toil, toil, toil, when Sol's refulgent light, Adorns the earth ; and birds the verdant boughs among. Fill the air with gladsome voice, and mock me with their song. *' ! could I when the hour, and shades of evening fall, Betake me to some hallow'd s])ot, and hear the linnet call. Few moments feel my bosom free, from angiy words and strife, A little respite from the cares, and pressing ills of life. 79 " ! but to wander far and wide, 'neath heaven's majestic blue, Inhale the fragrance of the flower, and kiss the falling dew In solitude, or with a ft-iend, — companion of my heart To muse, or speak of happy hours from which we loathed to part." With fingers nimble and long, with features pale, indeed, A draper stood by shelf and pile, plying his " stick " with speed. Toil, toil, toil, 'mid calico, smell, and vapour, And still with a voice, then low, then loud, (Oh that the words may reach the crowd), He sang this ^' Song of the Draper," THE LEAFLET. I dkopp'd a seed into the ground. When in an idle horn-, Long after sought the spot and fomid 'T had grown a beauteous flower. Upon a path, the careless trod, I let a leaflet fall, The blessed message sent from God, That " Jesus paid it aU." 80 To my surprise iu later years, A stranger neatly dressed My steps arrested, and in tears Drew something from his breast. " I was a sinner, shameless, lost, This leaflet from you fell, 'Tis Jesus paid it all, — the cost Of snatching me from hell." The seeds of mercy, truth, and love, In faith disperse abroad, And He, who watches you above, Will render rich reward. DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR. Old year, thou'rt gone ; to our eyelids are stealing The tears of regret, that we served thee so ill ; Our actions, how few were pregnant with feeling. How many were done with irresolute will ! How few were the hearts, deep riven with anguish, We sought to tenderly bind up and heal, And those who in sorrow were ready to languish, How feebly we strove to restore their lost weal 1 Old year, thou'rt gone, and the friendships forsaken, Sunk in the shadows which hide thee from view ; Let them sleep on in thy bosom unshaken. Nor tempt us again to call them untrue. 81 Those to the land of Elysium departed — We speak not reproachful, unkind, or severe ; Ah ! we then wept, and were nigh broken-hearted, Thus, to be severed from friendships so dear. Thou'rt gone, to add one more link to the number, — Make up the long coiling chain to the past ; Thoughts, words, and deeds, all in unbroken slumber To rest, till waked by the great final blast. CONDEMNED I " CcKDEMXED, Condemned," he muttered with a gi-oan, Conrlemned to die, and in the world alone ; To-mi>rrow's sun will rise in all his pride DifiPusing glory over hill and tide. But not for me will those bright beams be shed And round my form a dazzling halo spread ; The thrush and linnet from their bowers of ease Will early rise with wonted power to please ; I shall not hear them from the dewy lawn, Nor yet the lark give welcome to the morn. My father's home, the dearest spot on earth. Where once I dwelt, then full of childish mirth. And where my youth has gaily flitted by, Unknown to sorrow, and unused to sigh ; — There will the voice of merry gladness ring, And hearts be joyous as returning spring. 82 But, one, alas ! she will lament the day Which tore her Edward from her side away, — A mother's heart with pangs severe are torn, And wails the moment when her child was born. Ah ! how she loved, yea doted on her boy, I was her plaything and her constant joy. 'Twas she who taught my infant lips to pray When I awoke, and at the close of day ; 'Twas she who first forth led me to the pew To seek redemption and my vows renew, — List to the warning of the reverent sage, And learn instruccion from the sacred page. Alas ! with all her watchfulness and love, Pure and devoted as a saint's above, I have but lived against her to rebel And strain my sinews in a deed of hell. Oh ! my lost soul ! could I again ju&t hear Her voice like music ringing in mine ear, With her uplift my feeble hands in prayer To heaven, and know my portion still was there, I yet had hope, tho' foul so e'er I am : The Judge would hear me and forbear to damn. Ah ! see me now, behold my tortured face. And mark the subject of my fell disgrace. 'Twas drink which hurled me fi'om my high estate And drove me headlong from the good and great. 'Twas drink, the demon, earth's most loathsome ban, Which made my presence but a curse to man. And it was drink, oh ! hear me and take heed That drove my fingers to the hellish deed. And here for which in clanking chains I lie. Banished from heaven and condemned to die. BRIGHOtJI^ : SAYES, PRIKTER AND STATIONER. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-50m-7,'54 (5990) 444 TUE LiiiKAKYi _^ milYERoITY OF CALIFORIM PR Lane - li875 Hours of L22h pastime L 22h min?lilH^,f'.^ "^'^'0'^*^ LIBRARY FACILITY """""""""" !iii'ii|rini!iiiMiiiiiii AA 000 367 175 7 ': \ i ' ^ t \ / •! '\