Ease outspreads your downy bed,Where might Jesus rest his head? For your sins a Saviour died,Erring mortals, vanquish pride! "Ecce Homo!" Ye who press The tear-steep'd couch of wretchedness, Rack'd with pangs of sad distress,Ye who tread life's thorny road, Bow'd by misery's weary load, Bleeding 'neath oppression's goad,-Learn to bear, as He hath borne, Wrong, and suffering, and scorn;— Mark his agonizing throes, Mark his persecuting foes; Let the Man of Sorrows' pain Murmuring discontent restrain. "Ecce Homo !" Ye who swell With passion's tumult, hard to quell, Hither turn, and rage dispel ;— Ye who, stern of heart and mind, Cherish memories unkind, Seeking vengeance, madly blind,-- And as ye would seek to live, INFANCY. REV. ROBERT MONTGOMERY. A CHILD beside a mother kneels, And fain would lisp the vow it feels That cherub gaze, that stainless brow Who would not be an infant now, No sin hath shaded its young heart, The eye scarce knows a tear; 'Tis bright enough from earth to part, And grace another sphere ! And I was once a happy thing, The cloud that bask'd in noontide glow, The flower that danced and shoneAll hues and sounds, above, below, Were joys to feast upon! Let wisdom smile-I oft forget To look into the laughing eyes, Oh! manhood, could thy spirit kneel As fondly pray, and purely feel, That moment would encircle thee And heaven itself be thine ! THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. You took me, William, when a girl, into your home and heart, To bear in all your after-fate a fond and faithful part; Or pined there was not joy for me when you were sunk in woe? No I would rather share your tear than any other's glee, For though you're nothing to the world, you're all the world to me. You make a palace of my shed, this rough-hewn bench a throne, There's sunlight for me in your smiles, and music in your tone; I look upon you when you sleep-my eyes with tears grow I cry, dim, "Oh Parent of the Poor, look down from heaven on him; Behold him toil from day to day, exhausting strength and soul; Oh look with mercy on him, Lord, for thou canst make him whole !" And when at last relieving sleep has on my eyelids smiled, There's only one return I crave, I may not need it long, no wrong: I ask not for a kinder tone, for thou wert ever kind; stow, Of knowledge which you prize so much, might I not something know? Subtract from meetings amongst men each eve an hour for me, Make me companion of your soul, as I may safely be. If you will read, I'll sit and work; then think when you're away, Less tedious I shall find the time, dear William, of your stay. A meet companion soon I'll be for e'en your studious hours, And teacher of those little ones you call your cottage flowers: And if we be not rich and great, we may be wise and kind, And as my heart can warm your heart, so may my mind your mind. "The above admirable lines, by an American lady, a member of the Society of Friends, lately appeared in the |