LINES ON LEAVING FRYUP, IN SEARCH OF WORK.
I'm sorry, Fryup! thee to leave, But thou deniest what I crave, Though I have ask'd with tears!
Oft have I drunk at thy pure rills, And labour'd 'mongst thy moorland hills, For many toilsome years!
'Twas oft to me a painful task, Thine aid in time of need to ask, So often sought before; And many times my small demand, Was torn, as with a trembling hand, Reluctant from thy store!
Oft have I rang'd thy verdant woods, Where roses bursting from their buds, Have struck my wondering eye!
And oft have I thy woodbines cropt:- While from my hand the sweet flowers dropt, I've thought,-I too must die!
Here, with each morning's early dawn, I lov'd to walk the flowery lawn, To hear thy warblers sing!
Or when at eve their songs were mute, I've sooth'd my fancy with my flute, And made thy woodlands ring!
I've seen thy mountains clad with snow, While shelter'd in the vale below, 'Midst hospitable friends!
For all their kindnesses to me, May Heav'n bless every family, And make them full amends!
But trade is now so dull and dead, A man can hardly earn his bread, In winter's frost and snow: So I must take my staff in hand, And travel to some distant land, Till here more plenty grow!
I grieve to leave the Sunday School, Where I with gratitude of soul, Have taught with great delight, The youthful, rising sons of men, To steer safe past the gulf of sin, By glorious gospel light.
With men of understanding heart, I always joy'd to act my part, Where I may teach no more:- Where I, myself have oft been taught, And blessings gain'd beyond my thought, From Heaven's bounteous store!
As when the sailor points the keel, For ancient Greenland's icy field, So I my course must steer!
I need assistance at the helm, Lest life's rough sea should overwhelm My soul,-no harbour near!
For quicksands and contrary winds, And enemies as well as friends, I still expect to find: There is a Friend who lives above, To all who do His precepts love, He proves both true and kind!
To Him I will address my prayer; My little bark unto His care, With confidence I'll trust!
A steady course, O may I steer, And if to Him I prove sincere, He'll land me safe at last!
THE SWALLOW!
(_On being deprived of her nest by some Sparrows._)
A Swallow one evening was sweeping along, 'Mongst such as against her were spiteful, An impudent Sparrow requested a song, Affirming her voice was delightful!
The innocent Swallow consented, But afterwards sadly repented; For the nest she had been at such pains to erect, She was soon from enjoying prevented!
To the ridge of the barn they hurried along, As fast as their feathers could speed them, Where she tweedled and sung, in her African tongue, Her favourite anthem on Freedom!
While she was this Sparrow amusing, The rest were her labours abusing;- They had taken possession both of garret and floor, And were in her best chamber carousing!
When the Sparrow beheld by the flood in her eye, How much this bad treatment did grieve her, With contempt in his manner he bade her good by Nor pitied, nor tried to relieve her!
Still her sweet little song did not alter, Her delicate voice did not falter; But she tweedled and sung what was next to be done, As though she alone was the faulter!
Reproving the Sparrows she then seem'd to say, "To you we are surely no strangers; To pay you this visit, in crossing the sea,- We encounter a great many dangers.
O Sparrows! why have you betray'd us?
'Tis cruelty thus to invade us!
We bring summer with us, take nothing away, O Sparrows! why have you betray'd us?"
A CALL TO THE CARELESS!
Awake! O ye sleepers, awake!
Or soon you will smart 'neath the rod!
Be thankful you're not in the lake, That burns with the anger of God!
Your life as a vapour will prove, Your days as a shadow will flee; Then seek to have treasure above, And struggle from sin to be free!
O sinners! be honest and yield To the Spirit of God when He strives; Or you will be slain in the field, When He with His army arrives!
This Jesus shall conquer the world!
The proud and the lofty subdue!
With terrible banners unfurl'd, Shall sift both believers and you:-
The poor, not because he is poor, Nor the rich for his riches regard; But thoroughly purging His floor, Appoint unto each his reward!
Believers! who wish to be whole;- A fountain long open hath been, To wash out the spots of the soul,- O hasten to wash and be clean!
When sin shall experience its death, Then you the grand secret shall know; Shall Heaven enjoy upon Earth, And be happy and useful below!
TO A HORSE, DYING ALONE!
Poor, hapless beast, thus left by all below, Amongst the noblest of God's creatures, thou, Once free from pain, Didst trip the plain; But Oh! how much thy case is alter'd now!
Thy groom and master seem to stand aloof!
Is it, because of thee they've had enough?
Is it respect, Or sheer neglect, That of their care thou hast no stronger proof?
Perhaps they do not like to hear or see Thy last deep groan, thy dying agony!
The grass upspurn'd, Thine eye upturn'd, Bespeak its weight to heedless passers by!
That hoarse deep sigh, the sad effect of sin, Proclaims the depth of agony within!
On man and beast, Greatest and least, Grim Death doth feed, and glad his victim win!
The blue shade gathers on thy glassy eye, So sternly fix'd upon the evening sky; Once full of light, Through darkest night, It proved its master's guide to home and family!