The Departed.

ON THE DEATH OF ANNIE J. THOMAS, A NEAR AND DEAR FRIEND OF THE

The fond hopes we cherish, The things we most prize, Seem first doomed to perish And pass from our eyes. Ties strongest and nearest, Entwined round the heart, Loves warmest and dearest, Forever must part.

The widow lone-hearted,
Desolate mother!

She weeps the departed,

But feels like no other.
Sad mourning believer!
Her spirit is gone;
Yet bless the Life-giver,

He takes but his own.

But why all this weeping
A form without breath?

"Tis Loveliness sleeping

The calm sleep of death. Since the law is fulfilled,

And sin is forgiven, Let her go undefiled,

Young heiress of heaven.

The Slaves of Ambition.

HE lofty peaks that cleave the sky

THE

The eagle bold may wing to; But reptiles mean can crawl as high When they have aught to cling to. So 'tis with man: the towering mind,

Plumed with wisdom's precious lore, Will leave the vulgar crowd behind, And proudly heavenward soar.

Ambition's creatures creeping rise,
Up to power may slowly climb,
Intent upon the golden prize.

Placed on glory's height sublime.
Designing knaves and hireling tools
Conquests base may oft achieve,
And spider-like catch brainless fools
In the filmy nets they weave.

O slaves of narrow party creeds,
Who your hopes in error ground,

Ye shout for Freedom while she bleeds
From your own assassin wound.
Ye blindly men for measures take,
Self for love of country show;

And laws of truth and justice break
Whence the streams of blessings flow.

As rocks the ocean's rage defy,
Mock the force of rabid waves,

So, firmly on yourselves rely,
Spurn the iron yoke of slaves.
Be men! and bear your head erect!
Never fear Oppression's frown;
God will Freedom's cause protect,

And success her struggles crown.

The Famine; or, the Virtues of Want.

B

EHOLD! the squalid sons of Want

In thousands pace the street,

And Sorrow's cloud hangs dark upon
The brows of all you meet.

In wretched hovels mothers pine,
And children cry for bread;
While the anguish of a father's heart
In heavings may be read.

The depths of grief are fathomless
That whelm the human mind,
When mute Despair to Nature's call
No utterance can find.

See parents with their little ones
Their last sad morsel share,

And strangely gaze around their cot,
All desolate and bare.