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46 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
0 ! how like to that simple child Are we, in pursuit of the pleasures of earth! We grasp what we deem of intrinsic worth, And place in the warmth of the heart's glowing hearth,
"Till blighted, and wither'd, and spoil'd.
CHILDREN AT PLAY.
In groups they gather round,— And childhood's merry laugh is ringing free, Making the skies and shady woods resound
With fitful bursts of glee.
I have been thinking long Of various paths mark'd out through future life, Through which the footsteps of that restless throng
Will move in doubt and strife.
Ah, some will early die! Yes, many a beaming eye, and polish'd brow, And rosy cheek, ere many years pass by,
Shall moulder cold and low !
I see the funeral bier— The grave before them in the path they tread, And many a sigh, and many a scalding tear,
Around their pillow shed.