Who singeth me songs in her artless glee,— Can any love me better than she? Yet when I asked, that sister confest, Of all, she did not love me the best! Who loves me best ?-my brother young, Far down the green-wood's bushy way; Who sheweth me where the hazel nuts grow, And where the fairest field flowers blow? Yet perhaps he loves me no more than the rest,— How shall I find who loves me best? My mother loves me, but she may die; If they should forsake me, what should I do? Where should I bear my sad heart too? Some one surely would be my stay Some one must love me better than they. 66 Yes, fair child! there is one above, Who loves thee with an unchangeable love; FELIX TREMBLED. He is the freeman whom the truth makes free! HE trembleth! and his white lips quiver, And his cheek wears the hue of death; His bosom heaveth, as the river Whose waves are stirred without a breath, Beneath a stormless sky, doth shew Some wild commotion stirs below. And wherefore? is there aught to move Such feelings? can that weak old man, Whose face speaks nought but peace and love, Disturb that mighty soul?—he can! That voice-that eye's mild beams can dart Like lightning on the Ruler's heart. He trembleth, as that placid brow Is lighted up with truth and faith, Those sunken cheeks inspired glow, And holy words of peace he saith: And though the chains around him are, Wherefore doth Felix tremble? -all Of power and pomp are round him waiting; The slaves before his footstool fall, Glory his spirit is elating; That captive saint doth but appear, And lo! he shrinks and quails with fear! The wrath of God is passing o'er him, And conscience setteth now before him STANZAS. Oн, could we see the regions. Beyond the azure air, And could we see the legions Of blessed spirits there, And could we see the bowers, Prepared for us on high, And the fragrant, fadeless flowers That are beyond that sky; Should we ever shed a tear For our woe and sorrow here ? • Oh, could we see the glory Our long-lost friends have claimed, |