THE BLIND.

Blessings on the fishing boat,
How merrily she goes!
Brave and bold's the fisherman,
Peril never heeding,

Yet with steady heart and hand
For the time of needing!

Christ he loved the fishermen,
Walking by the sea;

How he blessed the fishing boats,
Down in Galilee !

Dark the night and wild the wave,
Christ the boat is keeping;
Trust in him and have no fear,
Though he seemeth sleeping!

29

Mary Howitt.

I AM BLIND.

The woodland! O! how beautiful,
How pleasant it must be!
How soft its grass-how fresh the leaves
Upon each forest tree!

I hear its wild rejoicing birds
Their songs of gladness sing;

To see them leap from bough to bough
Must be a pleasant thing,

I must but image it in mind,
I cannot see it-I am blind!

The trees are glorious green, you say—
Their branches widely spread;
And nature on their budding leaves
Its nursing dews hath shed.
They must be fair; but what is green?
What is a spreading tree?
What is a shady woodland walk ?

Say, canst thou answer me ?

No! I may image them in mind,
But cannot know them-I am blind!

The songsters that so sweetly chant
Within the sky so fair,

Until my heart with joy doth leap,
As it a wild bird were-

How seem they to the light-bless'd eye?
What are they then so small?
Can sounds of such surpassing joy
From things so tiny fall?

I must but image them in mind—
I cannot see them-I am blind!

A something warm comes o'er my hand;
What is it? pray thee tell?

Sunlight come down among the trees
Into this narrow dell?

Thou seest the sunlight and the sun,
And both are very bright!

'Tis well they are not known to me,
Or I might loathe my night:

But I may image them in mind
I ne'er shall see them-I am blind!

My hand is resting on your cheek-
'Tis soft as fleecy snow;
My sister, art thou very fair?

That thou art good, I know.
Thou art thou art! I feel the blush
Along thy neck doth wend!
Thou must be fair-so carefully
Thy brother thou dost tend!
But I must image thee in mind-
I cannot see thee-I am blind!

The changes of the earth and sky-
All nature's glow and gloom-
Must ever be unknown to me-
My soul is in the tomb!

32

THE STREAMLET.

O! I can feel the blessed sun,
Mirth, music, tears that fall,
And darkness sad, and joy, and woe,
Yea, nature's movements all.
But I must image them in mind-
I cannot see them-I am blind!

Nicol

THE STREAMLET.

I saw a little streamlet flow
Along a peaceful vale;

A thread of silver soft and slow,
It wandered down the vale
Just to do good it seemed to move,
Directed by the hand of love.

The valley smiled in living green;
A tree which near it gave
From noontide heat a friendly screen,
Drank from its limpid wave;
The swallow brushed it with her wing
And followed its meandering.

But not alone to plant and bird

That little stream was known,

DUTY AND RELIANCE.

Its gentle murmur far was heard,
A friend's familiar tone;

It glided by the cotter's door,
It blessed the labour of the poor.

And would that I could thus be found,
While travelling life's brief way,
An humble friend to all around,
Where'er my footsteps stray;-

Like that pure stream, with tranquil
breast;

Like it, still blessing, and still blest.

333

M. A. Stoddart.

DUTY AND RELIANCE.

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty ; Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just and

fear not:

Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's

Thy God's and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.

Cromwell,

Cromwell,