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Remember me-but not as I

On thee for ever, ever dwell,
With anxious heart and drooping eye,

And doubts 't would grieve thee should I tell; But in thy calm unclouded heart,

Where dark and gloomy visions flee,
Oh there, my sister, be my part,
And kindly there remember me,

EDWARD EVERETT.

THE WRECK.

All night the booming minute-gun

Had peal'd along the deep, And mournfully the rising sun

Look'd o'er the tide-worn steep.
A bark from India's coral strand,

Before the rushing blast,
Had vail'd her topsails to the sand,

And bow'd her noble mast.

The queenly ship! brave hearts had striven,

And true ones died with her!
We saw her mighty cable riven,

Like floating gossamer;
We saw her proud flag struck that morn,

A star once o'er the seas,
Her helm beat down, her deck uptorn,

And sadder things than these.

We saw her treasures cast away ;

The rocks with pearl were strown:
And, strangely sad, the ruby's ray

Flash'd out o'er fretted stone;
And gold was strewn the wet sands o'er,

Like ashes by a breeze,
And gorgeous robes—but, oh! that shore

Had sadder sights than these!

We saw the strong man, still and low,

A crush'd reed thrown aside!
Yet, by that rigid lip and brow,

Not without strife he died !
And near him on the sea-weed lay,

Till then we had not wept,
But well our gushing hearts might say,

That there a mother slept!

For her pale arms a babe had press'd

With such a wreathing grasp,
Billows had dash'd o'er that fond breast,

Yet not undone the clasp.
Her very tresses had been flung

To wrap the fair child's form, Where still their wet, long streamers clung,

All tangled by the storm.

And beautiful, 'midst that wild scene,

Gleam'd up the boy's dead face,
Like slumbers, trustingly serene,

In melancholy grace.
Deep in her bosom lay his head,

With half-shut violet eye ;
He had known little of her dread,

Naught of her agony!
Oh, human love! whose yearning heart,

Through all things vainly true,
So stamps upon thy mortal part

Its passionate adieu !
Surely thou hast another lot,

There is some home for thee,
Where thou shalt rest, remembering not
The moaning of the sea !

MRS. HEMANS.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL GROUP after group are gathering. Such as press'd

Once to their Saviour's arms, and gently laid Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,

Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade,Group after group glide on with noiseless tread,

And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,

And holy words their ruby lips repeat,
Oft with a chasten'd glance, in modulation sweet.
Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows

Wan poverty hath done the work of care.
Look up, ye sad ones!—'tis your

Father's house, Beneath whose consecrated doom you are; More gorgeous robes ye see, and trappings rare,

And watch the gaudier forms that gaily move, And deem, perchance, mistaken as you are,

The “coat of many colours" proves His love, Whose sign is in the heart, and whose reward above.

And ye, bless'd labourers in this humble sphere,

To deeds of saint-like charity inclined, Who, from your cells of meditation dear,

Come forth to gird the weak, untutor'd mind, Yet ask no payment, save one smile refined

Of grateful love,-one tear of contrite pain,
Meekly ye forfeit to your mission kind

The rest of earthly Sabbaths.—Be your gain
A Sabbath without end, 'mid yon celestial plain.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

VERSES FOR AN ALBUM.
FRESH Clad from heaven in robes of white,
A

young probationer of light,
Thou wert, my soul, an Album bright,

A spotless leaf; but thought, and care,
And friends, and foes, in foul or fair,
Have “written strange defeature" there.
And time, with heaviest hand of all,
Like that fierce writing on the wall,
Hath stamp'd sad dates—he can't recall.
And error, gilding worst designs
Like speckled snake that strays and slimes-
Betrays his path by crooked lines.
And vice hath left his ugly blot -
And good resolves, a moment hot,
Fairly begun-but finish'd not.
And fruitless late remorse doth trace-
Like Hebrew lore, her backward pace-
Her irrecoverable race.

Disjointed members—sense unknit-
Huge reams of folly-shreds of wit,
Compose the mingled mass of it.
My scalded eyes no longer brook.
Upon this ink-blurr'd thing to look,
Go-shut the leaves—and clasp the book!

CHARLES LAMB

A FATHER'S FAREWELL. COME near to me, my gentle girl,

Come, share a father's parting sorrow,And weep with me those tears to-day,

Nor thou, nor I, may weep to-morrow. Come, lean once more upon my breast,

As when a simple child caressing, For another day, and far away

Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing,

The wind blows fairly for the sea ;

The white waves round thy bark are swelling, Thy lover sighs, for the morn to rise,

And make thee a bride, my gentle Ellen :Yet closer, closer round me cling,

Though another claim thy love to-morrow, None, none are here to reprove the tear,

That flows to-day for a father's sorrow.

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Come, gaze on me, thou darling child,

My fairest and my fondliest cherish’d, That I may trace, in thy placid face,

Thy mother's beauty ere she perish'd. And let me hear thy mother's song

Yet once more from thy sweet lip swelling, And none again shall sing that strain,

The last song of my gentle Ellen. And say, that when between us lie

Wide lands and many a mountain billow, Thy heart will tend to thine earliest friend,

And think in prayer of his aged pillow. For

my head is white with winter snow, No earthly sun away may carry, Until I come to my waiting home,

The last home where the aged tarry. Then lean once more upon my breast,

As when a simple child caressing, For another day, and far away

Wilt thou be from thy father's blessing. Ay, closer, closer round me cling,

Though another claim thy love to-morrow, None, none are here,

to reprove the tear That flows to-day for a father's sorrow.

Miss JEWSBURY.

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