TO A TREE, HALF FALLEN OVER

A CLIFF.

WHAT friendly hand thus stayed thy downward course,
Thou giant tree? What was the potent spell,
That thus could bind again thy loosened clasp,
And bid thee stay?-Far down the deep abyss
The wild waves roar among the sullen rocks,
And toss their foamy crests on high, as though
Old Ocean would do battle with the world.
And thou, for years, hadst stood upon yon cliff,
And gazed upon their fury,-what strange wish
Stirred in thy heart, impelling that wild leap
Into the dread abyss, as though thou fain—
Unknowing that upon those cruel rocks,

If thou hadst reached them, death awaited thee-
Wouldst headlong plunge, and bathe thy giant limbs
In their dark depths?—And what the unseen power
That stayed thy rash design? Perchance some thought,
Some tender memory of the happy hours,

When thou hadst stood on that familiar spot
And reared thy haughty head, and stretched aloft

Thy mighty arms to woo the laughing breeze,

And joyed in God's bright sunshine. It may be
That some such thought came o'er thee in that hour,
And made thee loth to leave the well-known spot,
Which, for so many years, had been thy home.
Then didst thou cling, with strong convulsive grasp,

As though for very life, to that dear sod;
And still dost cling with fond tenacity,

As trembling lest some blast might sever thee
From all thou hold'st so dear.

E'en so, the man

Who takes the first step toward the abyss of sin,
Gazes with eager, longing eyes upon

The world's wild restless sea, eager to break
Each link that binds him to more peaceful scenes,

And revel, with exultant feverish joy,

In life's fierce tumult. Then there seems to steal,
Over his troubled spirit, a sweet dream,
A vision of the past; he seems to hear
Again the echo of his mother's voice,

Loving and sweet, as when, in childhood's days,
She sought to train his infant steps to walk

In ways of holiness. A vision comes
Of sunny, peaceful days, and calm bright eves,
'Mid all the gentle influences of home ;

Then, as soft breezes wandering o'er the strings
Of an Æolian harp awake its chords

Το

pour forth strains of music, wildly sweet, So gentle memories, wandering through his soul, Awake responsive echoes in his breast,

And make him turn with yearning heart, once more, And cling to that dear home. Then softer thoughts

Steal o'er his spirit, and he cries aloud,

"Roll on, ye dark waves, in your ceaseless strife:
I heed ye not, your dazzling pleasures tempt
My wavering soul no more. I know ye now
For false and fickle as ye are. I know
That death and ruin are the fatal doom
Of those who trust to you.
Leave me to life's true bliss; no power on earth
Shall ever part us more, till it please God

Leave me in peace,

That Death step in between us, and I reach

A better, surer home beyond the grave."