(J. C. Yule) Pamela S. Vining

Away to the hills, away! - There is health in the summer air; - The rustling bough, and the bending spray,

Father in Heaven, to thee, Guardian and friend, Lowly the suppliant knee

No martyr-blood hath ever flowed in vain! - No patriot bled, that proved not freedom's gain! Those tones, which despots heard with fear and dread

A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER FAMILY ON HER GOLDEN-WEDDING DAY. Just fifty years, my daughters, Just fifty years, my son,

Alone, alone! - the night is very silent, Voiceless the stars are, and the pallid moon Through the unknown sends down no tone, no utt'rance

"Here is a lantern, my little boy," Said a father to his child, "And yonder's a wood, a lonely wood,

"I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety" The tranquil hours steal by On drowsy wings and slow,

I thought it pleasant when a manly sire Weary of foreign travel, at the door Of his own cottage left his dusty staff,

A transient day, A troubled night, The swift decay,

I. Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone - Weep for her!

Balmy morning! blessed morning! Dew-drops bright All the emerald glade adorning

Be in earnest, Christian toilers, Life is not the summer, dream Of the careless, child that gathers

O throbbing heart, be still! Canst thou not bear The heavy dash of Memory's troubled tide,

Thou hast entered the land without shadows, Thou who, 'neath the shadow, so long Hast sat with thy white hands close-folded,

Brethren, go! the day is bright'ning As the sultry noon steals on, And the fields, already whit'ning,

Will the shadows be lifted to-morrow? - Will the sunshine come ever again? - Will the clouds, that are weeping in sorrow,

I. Broken! It's only a ring - a plain, old ring,

IN MEMORY OF THE REV. J. E. V. Rest, brother, rest! Thy eyes no more shall weep O'er unhealed anguish and unconquered sin;

God will not let His bright gifts die If I may not sing my songs just now I shall sing them by and by

Fair land of peace! - to Britain's rule and throne Adherent still, yet happier than alone, And free as happy, and as brave as free,

We met one fresh June-morn, Chlodine, Where two roads came together; I'd travelled far through storm and rain,

Come home! come home! O loved and lost, we sigh Thus, ever, while the weary days go by, And bring thee not. We miss thy bright, young face,

Weary soul, by care oppressed, Wouldst thou find a place of rest? Listen, Jesus calls to thee,

Before them lay the heaving deep Behind, the foemen pressed; And every face grew dark with fear,

'Tis but to fold the arms in peace, To close the tear-dimmed, aching eye, From sin and suffering to cease,

[Footnote: In the Grand River, at Brantford, July 30th, 1875, Miss Jessie Hamilton, adopted daughter of C.H. Waterous, Esq., Brantford, aged 14 years and 3 months, and Miss Ella E. Murton, only daughter of John W. Murton, Esq., Hamilton, aged 14 years.] The morning dawned without a cloud, But evening came with pall and shroud, -

Eloise! Eloise! It is morn on the seas, And the waters are curling and flashing;

To pray as Jesus prayed, When faithless brethren sleep, - To weep the ruin sin has made -

Alien blossoms! tell me why Seek ye such a lonely place, Thus to bloom, and droop, and die

"Yea I have loved thee with an everlasting love." Love of God! - amazing love! Height, above all other height,

I hear the beat of the unresting tide On either shore as swiftly on I glide With eager haste the narrow channel o'er,

Over my window in pencillings white, Stealthily traced in the silence of night - Traced with a pencil as viewless as air,

Go, dream no more of a sun-bright sky With never a cloud to dim! - Thou hast seen the storm in its robes of night,

"For thou, Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou compass him as with a shield." Like the dew-drops that fall Through the chill, midnight hours,

Upon the plain of Dura stood an image great and high, With golden forehead broad and bright beneath the morning sky; All regal in its majesty and kingly in its mien,

(IN MEMORY OF A PUPIL) Thou art but gone before - Gone to that unknown shore

Good night, good night! - the day Slowly has borne away, Music and light;

Written for the Alumni of Albion College, Michigan; and sung at their last re-union, June, 1881. The gliding years have rolled along, And once again we come,

Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow The crown of victory resteth now, Unfading as the sun!

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO A DEAR FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED FATHER. The dawn-light wakes, and brightens to the day, And the slow sun climbs the far eastern skies,

Two pictures, strangely beautiful, I hold In Mem'ry's chambers, stored with loving care Among the precious things I prized of old,

HONOR TO LABOR! - it giveth health; Honor to labor! - it bringeth wealth; Honor to labor! - our glorious land

"I am doing no good!" said a little rill, As it rippled along at the foot of a hill, "I am doing no good with my babbling here,

(Ps. 3 5.) Dark was the midnight hour, And wild with storm. Nor moon nor pitying star

I shall be satisfied when I awaken In thy dear likeness, my King and my Lord, - When the dark prison of death shall be shaken,

I will not despair while thou rulest the storm, Though the red lightning stream o'er the cloud's sable-breast, For I catch through the darkness bright gleams of thy form,

Nay, I will not let thee go, Though the midnight glideth slow, - Though the darkness deep and long

"Work to-day in my vineyard!" Hast thou, then, been called to labor In the vineyard of thy Lord,

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I gave myself to Jesus In my sunny childhood's years,

'Twas a balmy day in Autumn, In the drowsy, dreamy Autumn, When from out the quiet woodland

He sleeps where the billow Lifts high its white crest O'er his lone, sea-weed pillow

[note: A precious memory is associated with these words. The voice that uttered them is silent now but the solemnity of their utterance has not passed away. The [below] is a feeble attempt to give it something like permanency.] Bow the head in supplication, Lowly, penitent, sincere,

A voice missed by the dear home-hearth - A voice of music and gentle mirth - A voice whose lingering sweetness long

John Littlewit, friends, was a credulous man. In the good time long ago, Ere men had gone wild o'er the latter-day dream

Living for Christ, I die; - how strange, that I, Thus dying, live, - and yet, thus living, die! Living for Christ, I die;-yet wondrous thought,

Sleep, gentle, mysterious healer, Come down with thy balm-cup to me! Come down, O thou mystic revealer

Christian, lookup? thy feet may slide; This is a slippery way! Yet One is walking by thy side

Do the dancing leaves of summer To the time of buds look back? - Does the river moan regretful

God so loved me that He gave Jesus for my sins to die; Jesus loved me in the grave,

LOVED AND LOST, - OR - THE SKY-LARK AND THE VIOLET. VIOLET'S SONG I.

Lightly the shadows Play through the trees, Green are the meadows,

Thus early with the dead - Thou of the young, fair brow, the laughing eye, The light and joyous tread, -

Up from the spirit-depths ringing, Softly your melody swells, Sweet as a seraphim's singing,

Where the willow weepeth By a fountain lone, - Where the ivy creepeth

WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF A BEREAVED BROTHER. We were playmates long together, By the brook and on the hill,

"For there is none other name under heaven, given among men, whereby we must be saved." Jesus! the only name that's given, Through which salvation we may claim;

"Whither shall I go from thy Spirit?" I stood where ocean lashed the sounding shore With his unresting waves, and gazed far out

"Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for thee." *            *            *            *            * "The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

"Now is the accepted time." Now, sinner, now! Not in the future, when thy longed-for measure

One by one, ye are passing, beloved, Out of the shadow into the light. One by one,

Onward, still on! - though the pathway be dreary, - Though few be the fountains that gladden the way, - Though the tired spirit grow feeble and weary,

Over the waves of the Western sea, Led by the hand of Hope she came - The beautiful Angel of Liberty -

Our field is the world! - let us forth to the sowing, O'er valley and mountain, o'er desert and plain, Beside the still waters through cool meadows flowing,

Ring out your glad peals of rejoicing! Wake Music's enlivening strain! Let the sound float abroad o'er your waters,

A light departed from the hearth of home, Leaving a shadow where its radiance shone, - A flower just bursting into life and bloom,

I. I saw how the patient Sun Hasted untiringly

When tossed on time's tempestuous tide, By angry storms resistless driven, One hope can bid our fears subside -

Old Aleck, the weaver, sat in the nook Of his chimney, reading an ancient book, Old, and yellow, and sadly worn,

I love thee, Sabbath morn! - I cannot say But 'tis because my father loved thee so, - Because my mother's care-worn face would grow

"Whom have I in heaven but thee?" 'Twere nought to me, yon glorious arch of night, Decked with the gorgeous blazonry of heaven,

Laughing and singing With rhythmical flow, Leaping and springing,

"ALL PERSON'S HELD AS SLAVES, within said designated States and parts of States, ARE, AND HENCEFORWARD SHALL BE FREE!" - Proclamation of Emancipation, Jan. 1st, 1863. "Shall be free! shall be free!" - lo, the strong winds have caught it,

"For he looked for a city that hath foundations, whose Maker and Builder is God." I. Somewhere, I know, there waits for me

Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom! Oh, take me where the wild flowers bloom! I'm dying, mother dear!

"Stay, mother, stay, for the storm is abroad, And the tempest is very wild; It's a fearful night with no ray of light,

Strike the chords softly with tremulous fingers, While, on the threshold of happiest years, For a brief moment fond memory lingers,

The glorious sun, behind the western hills, Slowly, in gorgeous majesty, retires, Flooding the founts and forests, fields and rills,

Soft evening bells! - sweet evening bells! O'er vale and plain your music swells, And far away

["Dr. Reid, a traveller through the highlands of Peru, is said to have found in the desert of Alcoama the dried remains of an assemblage of human beings, five or six hundred in number, men, women, and children, seated in a semicircle as when alive, staring into the burning waste before them. It would seem that, knowing the Spanish invaders were at hand, they had come hither with a fixed intention to die. They sat immoveable in that dreary desert, dried like mummies by the hot air, still sitting as if in solemn council, while over that Areopagus silence broods everlastingly."] With dull and lurid skies above, And burning wastes around,

There's a beautiful Artist abroad in the world, And her pencil is dipped in heaven, - The gorgeous hues of Italian skies,

All over the earth like a mantle, Golden, and green, and grey, Crimson, and scarlet, and yellow,

Little bird, is that thy sphere, Yonder threat'ning cloud so near? Sunbeams blaze along its brow,

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO AN OVERWORKED STUDENT. O tyrant soul of mine, What's the use

RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO HIS PATRONESS AND FRIEND, BY THE LITTLE, BROWN SINGER HIMSELF. Merrily! Merrily!

Lines written after hearing a returned missionary relate some of the traditions, and speak of the long-cherished hopes of this interesting people. A voice from the distant East - A voice from a far-off shore -

The Wind god, Eolus, sat one morn In his cavern of tempests, quite forlorn, He'd been ill of a fever a month and a day,

A little child stood moaning At the hour of midnight lone, And no human ear was list'ning

I plucked a fair flower that grew In the shadow of summer's green trees - A rose petalled flower,

When the heavy, midnight shadows Gather o'er a slumbering world, And the banner folds of darkness

"They need not go away!" the Master said, "Give ye to them." Ah, Lord, behold our store - These loaves, these fishes, - see, we have no more!

The night was dark and dreary, And the autumn-wind went by With a sound like Sorrow's wailing

[note: This poem is designed to form a part of a volume of strictly religious poetry, which the Author has in course of preparation; and is inserted here in deference to the expressed wish of a large number of friends. Its appearance here will not, however, prevent its appearing in its appropriate connection.] I SING the NAMES of JESUS! - matchless names! Highest and holiest Earth or Heaven claims!

I am slowly treading the mazy track That leadeth, through sunshine and shadows, back - Through freshest meads where the dews yet cling

I. Storms gather o'er thy path, Christian! - the sullen, tempest-darkened sky

Tearing up the stubborn soil, Trudging, drudging, toiling, moiling, Hands, and feet, and garments soiling -

I sat beside a bed of pain, And all the muffled hours were still; The breeze that bent the summer grain,

We had finished our pitiful morsel, And both sat in silence a while; At length we looked up at each other.

Landward the tide setteth buoyantly breezily, - Landward the waves ripple sparkling and free, - Ho, the proud ship, like a thing of life, easily,

I heard a voice - twas the voice of Spring, Up from the rivulets murmuring, Singing of freedom, - thus the lay

Standing alone by the highway side, Stately, and stalwart, and tempest-tried, Staunch of body and strong of bough,

AN INDIAN TRADITION; VERSIFIED FROM SCHOOLCRAFT It was a day of festive-mirth, And bright the Indian wigwams shone,

Dark was the world when from the bowers Of forfeit Eden man went forth, With aching heart and blighted powers,

"Giving up three for one!" - mother, You said in the long ago, When father, yourself, and John, mother,

Good night! good night! - the golden day Has veiled its sunset beam, And twilight's star its beauteous ray

"Time for bed!" - the weary day With its toils has passed away Sol has wrapped his forehead bright

What! only to stay For a single day? Thou beautiful, bright hued on

Why art thou here, little, motherless one, - Why art thou here in this bleak world alone? With that innocent smile on thy beautiful brow,

WRITTEN BY REQUEST, FOR A GOLDEN WEDDING Full fifty years together - Father and mother dear -

"Be Still, and know that I am God!" Be silent, Soul! - though dark thy path and dreary, And wild with storm, yet what is that to thee?

Over the mountains, under the snow Lieth a valley cold and low, 'Neath a white, immovable pall,

Thou hast marked the lonely river, On whose waveless bosom lay Some deep mountain-shadow ever,

How beautiful, how beautiful, Beneath the morning sky, In bridal veil of snowy mist,

Weary of dreaming what never comes true, Weary of thinking what never is new, Of endeav'ring, yet never succeeding to do.

Yes, the weary earth shall brighten - Brighten in the perfect day, And the fields that now but whiten,