Wild timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses : The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving. But though in blindness he remained unconscious of that guiding, And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing, He testified this solemn truth, while frenzy desolated, Nor man nor nature satisfy whom only God created! Like a sick child that knoweth not his mother while she blesses And drops upon his burning brow the coolness of her kisses; That turns his fevered eyes around — "My mother! where's my mother?" As if such tender words and deeds could come from any other! The fever gone, with leaps of heart he sees her bending o'er him; Her face all pale from watchful love, the unweary love she bore him! Thus woke the poet from the dream his life's long fever gave him, Beneath those deep pathetic Eyes, which closed in death to save him! Thus? oh, not thus! no type of earth can image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seraphs, round him breaking, Or felt the new immortal throb of soul from body parted; But felt those eyes alone, and knew "My Saviour! not deserted! Deserted! who hath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested Upon the Victim's hidden face, no love was manifested? What frantic hands outstretched have e'er the atoning drops averted, What tears have washed them from the soul, that one should be deserted? Deserted! God could separate from his own essence rather: And Adam's sins have swept between the righteous Son and Father; AROUSE THEE, SOUL! The North British Review of November, 1851, said that ROBERT NICOLL was the pupil and successor of Burns, and, though a lesser poet, was a greater man, for he kept his purity of heart and wholeness of head to the last. After his death, Ebenezer Elliott, the " Corn-Law Rhymer," said that Burns at the same age had done "nothing like him." The same writer said also, "Unstained and pure, at the age of twenty-three, died Scotland's second Burns; happy in this, that without having been a 'blasphemer, a persecutor, and injurious,' he chose, like Paul, the right path; and when the terrible angel said to his youth, Where is the wise? where is the scribe? where is the disputer? hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world?' he could and did answer, By the grace of God I am what I am.' Robert Nicoll is another victim added to the hundreds of thousands who are not dead, but gone before,' to bear true witness against the merciless." Nicoll was born January 7, 1814, of God-fearing parents, in Auchtergaven, Perthshire. He attended the parish school at the age of six, and paid the fee for his winter tuition by "herding " in summer. He was a voracious reader, and an early admirer of the Waverley Novels. At the age of thirteen he began to put his thoughts into verse, and he had always a definite purpose, namely, to "raise the many." In 1835 he was enabled to open a circulating li brary in Dundee, but was not successful in the enterprise He wrote much for the press, and in 1836 became editor of the Leeds Times, at a salary of one hundred pounds a year. The circulation of the journal rapidly increased. He, however, tasked his strength too severely, and died from the effects of his public labors in 1837. He was a friend of William and Mary Howitt, and of other persons capable of appreciating genius. AROUSE thee, Soul! God made not thee to sleep Thy hour of earth, in doing nought, away; Oh, use it for his glory while you may! Arouse thee, Soul! Oh, there is much to do For thee, if thou wouldst work for humankind! The misty future through A greatness looms,-'tis mind, awakened mind! Arouse thee, Soul! Arouse thee, Soul! Shake off thy sluggishness, As shakes the lark the dew-drop from its wing; Make but one error less, One truth, thine offering to mind's altar, bring! Arouse thee, Soul! Arouse thee, Soul! Be what thou surely art, An emanation from the Deity, A flutter of that heart Which fills all nature, sea and earth and sky! Arouse thee, Soul! Some worthy deed for human happiness To join, when life is through, Unto thy name, that angels both may bless! Arouse thee, Soul! Arouse thee, Soul! Leave nothings of the earth; And, if the body be not strong to dare, To blessed thoughts give birth, High as yon heaven, pure as heaven's air! Arouse thee, Soul! Arouse thee, Soul! Or sleep forevermore, And be what all nonentities have been, - If to be aught but this thou e'er dost mean, ROBERT NICOLL. THE DYING POET'S HOPE. It is well known that the messenger who brought the intelligence that the laureate crown had been decreed to Tasso found him dying in a convent. COLD on Torquato's silence fell The shadow of the tomb, When sounds of triumph reached his cell, "Haste where the peerless capitol Two thousand years hath shone ; Thee to their ancient throne; "Vain voice! thou comest," said the bard, "When hope itself is o'er; But now my spirit's depths are stirred By dreams of earth no more. "Yet I have loved the praise of men As none will e'er avow; "Why came it not when o'er my life But still my heart was young! Not myself, but the truth that in life I have | Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love, - spoken, Not myself, but the seed that in life I have sown, Shall pass on to ages, all about me forgotten, Save the truth I have spoken, the things I have done. So let my living be, so be my dying; Yes, but remembered by what I have done. HORATIO BONAR. OH, MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR IN- MARIAN EVANS CROSS, the well-known author, George Eliot," was born in Warwickshire, England, about 1820. She was in early life adopted by a wealthy clergyman. Her education was carefully attended to, and she was a pupil of Herbert Spencer. She is well informed in literature, languages, music, art, metaphysics, and in other subjects that have sometimes not been considered studies of women. Her writings are among the most widely read of the century. She married, in 1880, John Walter Cross, of London, and d'ed December 23, 18c0. 46 stars, And with their mild persistence urge men's minds To vaster issues. So to live is heaven: For which we struggled, failed, and agonized And what may yet be better, saw within This is life to come, ADEQUACY. Now by the verdure on thy thousand hills, Он, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live Strong stars without significance insphere In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn Our habitation. We, meantime, our ills Of miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like As if ourselves were better certainly May I reach I ask thee not my joys to multiply, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. OVER THE RIVER. NANCY AMELIA WOODBURY PRIEST WAKEFIELD, daugh ter of Francis D. Priest and Hannah Woodbury, was born at Royalston, Vt., Dec. 7, 1836. The family removed to Winchendon, Mass., which was thereafter considered the family home, though there were several removals to and from Hinsdale, N. H. At about the age of nineteen, when she was an operative in a factory at Hinsdale, Miss Priest wrote the following well-known lines. At the age of twenty-two she returned to Winchendon, and seven years later, in 1865, married Lieutenant A. C. Wakefield, an officer in a Vermont regiment during the war. She died September 20, 1870. |