While, amid his ghastly harvest, Death is binding up his sheaves Let us glean into our garner

All the busy reaper leaves : Thus, to aid the sick and wounded In the sight of God and man Work a nobler deed of conquest

Than the proudest ruler can!

R

TO THE READER.

A FAREWELL.

EADER, if you should say,

When you have read my book,

"I bear some thoughts away

That from its leaves I took ;"
you have with my song

One pleasant moment spent,
Which you may think of long,
Then am I well content.

I do not seek for fame,

The many-tongued and proud,

To hear my humble name
Repeated long and loud ;
From learned lips to gain

Words of well-measured praise,

Or see my verse sustain
The criticising gaze.—

To smooth the lines away
Upon the brow of care,
The pangs of grief allay,

And drive away despair;

To cheer the saddened heart,

To wipe the weeping eyes,

And all the joys impart

That from hope's fountain rise :

This is my sole desire,

And this my highest aim; I for my book aspire

No greater prize to claim : This, this is all I ask;

And this if I have done, My pleasant, welcome task A rich reward has won.

THE END.

LONDON:

CASSELL, PETTER, AND GALPIN, BELLE SAUVAGE WORKS,

LUDGATE HILL, E. C.

ہا