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Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny, Rash and undutiful ; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family, Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, — Her fair auburn tresses, Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home?
Who was her father?
And he pointed to the laden board and to the
Christmas tree, Then up to the cold sky, and said, “Will Gretchen
come with me?" The poor
child felt her pulses fail, she felt her
eyeballs swim, And a ringing sound was in her ears, like her
dead mother's hymn : And she folded both her thin white hands and
turned from that bright board, And from the golden gists, and said, “With thee,
with thee, O Lord !” The chilly winter morning breaks up in the dull
skies On the city wrapt in vapor, on the spot where
In her scant and tattered garments, with her back
against the wall, She sitteth cold and rigid, she answers to no call. They have listed her up fearfully, they shuddered
as they said, “It was a bitter, bitter night! the child is frozen
dead.” The angels sang their greeting for one more
redeemed from sin ; Men said, “ It was a bitter night; would no one
let her in ?" And they shivered as they spoke of her, and
sighed. They could not see How much of happiness there was after that
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
Take her up tenderly,
Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! O, it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed, Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and iver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river ; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurled Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly,– No matter how coldly
It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye ;
The rough river ran
think of it!
How the wild crowd goes swaying along,
Dashing they go
Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell :
Dreading to die,
Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
How strange it should be that this beautiful snow Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! How strange it would be, when the night comes
again, If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain !
JAMES W. WATSON.
That pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread; One silent woman stands, Listing with meagre hands
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound, —
An infant wail alone ; A sob suppressed, — again That short deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.
You bumpkins! who stare at your brother con
veyed, Behold what respect to a cloddy is paid ! And be joyful to think, when by death you're
laid low, You've a chance to the grave like a gemman to go!
Rattle his bones over the stones!
He's only a pauper whom nobody oirns !
Bcar soft his bones over the stones !
O change ! 0 wondrous change !
Burst are the prison bars, This moment there so low, So agonized, and now
Beyond the stars.
Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, and stares, and a' that,
He's but a coof for a' that ;
His riband, star, and a' that;
He looks and laughs at a' that.
A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that;
Guid faith, he maunna fa' that !
Their dignities, and a' that;
Are higher ranks than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
May bear the gree, and a' that.
It's coming yet, for a' that, – When man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that!
A Good that never satisfies the mind,
treasury which bankrupt time devours,
What is the existence of man's life
One word, ere yet the evening ends, –
Let's close it with a parting rhyme ;
As fits the merry Christmas time;
That fate erelong shall bid you play ; Good night !- with honest, gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway! Good night !-I'd say the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page, The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age ;