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Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Have we not knelt beside his bed,
And watch'd our first-born blossom die?
To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs,
Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright,
Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys-ten years ago.
A. A. WATTS.
MUSIC FROM SHORE.
A SOUND comes on the rising breeze,
From land, from sunny land it comes,
Why should its faint and passing sigh
Yet blessing, blessing on the spot,
And blessing from the bark that roams
O'er solitary seas,
To those that far in happy homes
Give sweet sounds to the breeze!
THE HEAVENLY REST.
THERE is an hour of peaceful rest,
There is a soft, a downy bed,
There is a home for weary souls,
When toss'd on life's tempestuous shoals,
And all is drear but heaven!
There faith lifts up the tearful eye,
There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,