My mother, whom I scarcely knew,
Bequeathed this bond of love to me;
The heart parental thrills for all
The children of humanity.
EARTH'S WITNESS.
BY ALICE B. HAVEN.
That Poet wrongs his soul, whose dreary cry
Calls "winds" and "waves," and "burning stars of night"
To bring our darkness nature's clearer light
On that just sentence, "Thou shalt surely die;"
To track the spirit as it leaves its clay
To bring back surety of its future home,
Or echo of the voice that calleth "come,"
To prove that it is borne to perfect day.
Say rather, "winds," who heard the Master speak,
And "waves," who by His voice transfixed were stayed,
And stars that lighted Christ's deep shade--
Your confirmation of our trust we seek.
Ye know how shadowy Death's dreary prison,
Because ye witnessed Christ our life, up risen.
THE WILLOWS, 1858.
THE NEW ENGLAND THANKSGIVING.
BY THE REV. HENRY W. BELLOWS, D.D.
When cellar and barn and storehouse were filled with food for the coming
winter, our pious New England forefathers used their first common leisure
to make public and joyful acknowledgment of their blessings to the God of
sunshine and of rain; to Him, who clothes the valleys with corn, and the
hills with flocks.
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