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Already toward a brighter sphere
They turn, from this terrestrial spot, -
Fond parents!- florists kind and dear!
Hinder them not.

Hinder them not! even Love may spare
In blindness many a wayward shoot,-
Or weakly let the usurping tare

Divert the health-stream from their root; Oh! by that negligence supine

Which oft the fairest page doth blot, And shroud the ray, of light divine, Hinder them not.

Cold world! the teachings of thy guile Awhile from these young hearts restrain; Oh spare that unsuspicious smile

Which never may return again; By folly's wile, by falsehood's kiss

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Too soon acquir'd, too late forgot, By sins that shut the soul from bliss, Hinder them not.

Mrs Sigourney.


HAPPY were they, the mothers, in whose sight fair children! hallow'd from that hour



By your Lord's blessing! surely thence a shower

Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light
Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright,
Through all the after years, which saw ye move,
Lowly, yet still majestic, in the might,

The conscious glory of the Saviour's love! And honor'd be all childhood, for the sake

Of that high love! Let reverential care Watch to behold the immortal spirit wake,

And shield its first bloom from unholy air; Owning, in each young suppliant glance, the sign Of claims upon a heritage divine.



Mrs Hemans.


"6 Why stand ye here idle?"-Matthew xx. 6. THE God of Glory walks his round, From day to day, from year to year, And warns us each with awful sound, 'No longer stand ye idle here!

'Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright,
Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear,
Waste not of hope the morning light!
Ah fools! why stand ye idle here?

'Oh, as the griefs ye would assuage
That wait on life's declining year,
Secure a blessing for your age,
And work your Maker's business here!


• And whose locks of scanty gray
Foretell your latest travail near,
How swiftly fades your worthless day!
And stand ye yet so idle here?

'One hour remains, there is but one!

But many a shriek and many a tear
T rough bitter years the guilt must moan
Of moments lost and wasted here!'

O Thou, by all thy works adored,
To whom the sinner's soul is dear,
Recall us to thy vineyard, Lord!
And grant us grace to please thee here!



"Be not afraid of them that kill the body."- Luke xii. 4.

O fear not thou to die!

But rather fear to live; for Life

Has thousand snares thy feet to try
By peril, pain and strife.

Brief is the work of Death ;

But Life! the spirit shrinks to see How full ere Heaven recalls the breath, of wo may be.

The cup

O fear not thou to die!

No more to suffer or to sin;

No snares without thy faith to try,
No traitor heart within
But fear, O! rather fear

The gay, the light, the changeful scene, The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From Heaven thy heart that wean.

Fear lest in evil hour,

Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome
By clouds that in the horizon lower,
Thy spirit feel that gloom,
Which over earth and heaven
The covering throws of fell despair,
And deem itself the unforgiven,
Predestined child of care.

O fear not thou to die!

To die, and be that blessed one,
Who, in the bright and beauteous sky,
May feel his conflict done;

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Who feels that never more

The tear of grief or shame shall come,
For thousand wanderings from that Power
Who loved, and call'd him home.


"Then whose shall those things be that thou hast provided?"-Luke xii. 20.

THOU hast a fair domain,

Most proud and princely halls,

And richly thro' the crystal pane,
Thro' bowering branches fresh with rain,
The golden sunbeam falls,

Thick vine-leaves o'er thy grotto meet
In soft and fragrant bloom,

But who shall fill that favorite seat
When thou art in thy tomb?

The wealth of every age
Thou hast concentred here,
The ancient tome, the classic page,
The wit, the poet, and the sage,
All at thy nod appear;

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