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SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE. |
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Where the mother rocks her child,
In its cradle sleeping, Watches its soft dreaming smile,
There their wings are sweeping.
Sweetly, fondly do they lend
Solace to the weary; On the steps of age attend,
Make its path less dreary.
And they linger by the side
Of the sick and dying, Who in Jesus' love confide,
Ready wing'd for flying.
ISM.
THE VINE.
I saw my brother tear away a vine,
Which had been clinging to our garden-tree: Up to the branches closely did it twine,
And yet he tore its little rings away;
And on the ground its wither'd tendrils lay: Pressing the damp earth o'er its clusters then,
Before I ask'd the cause, I heard him say, That had he left it to the wind and rain, It would have never lived to see the Spring again.
And thus, methought, our Father tears away
Our fondest hopes, which cling so close below, And in the dust doth our affections lay : |
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