She died on the sill of her father's dear home,
From which he had forc'd her to wander,
While her clear white hands were trying to roam
In search of the latch and warm shelter.
* * * * *
She died! and her end will for ever reveal
A father devoid of affection,
While her green grave will always testify well
To the strength of love and devotion.
THE WORLD AND THE SEA: A COMPARISON.
Like the world and its dread changes
Is the ocean when it rages,
Sometimes full and sometimes shallow,
Sometimes green and sometimes yellow.
Salt the sea to all who drink it,
Bitter is the world in spirit,
Deep the sea to all who fathom,
Deep the world and without bottom.
Unsupporting in his danger
Is the sea unto the sailor,
Less sustaining to the traveller
Is the world through which he'll wander.
Full the sea of rocky places,
Shoals and quicksands in its mazes,
Full the world of sore temptation
Charged with sorrow and destruction.
THE POOR MAN'S GRAVE.
BY THE REV. J. EMLYM JONES, M.A., LL.D.
'Neath the yew tree's gloomy branches,
Rears a mound its verdant head,
As if to receive the riches
Which the dew of heaven doth spread;
Many a foot doth inconsiderate
Tread upon the humble pile,
And doth crush the turf so ornate:--
That's the Poor Man's Grave the while.
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