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FAREWELL.

Barton.

NAY, shrink not from the word "farewell!"
As if 'twere Friendship's final knell ;
Such fears may prove but vain :
So changeful is life's fleeting day,
Whene'er we sever-Hope may say
"We part to meet again!”

Even the last parting earth can know,
Brings not unutterable woe

To souls that heavenward soar ;
For humble Faith, with steadfast eye,
Points to a brighter world on high,
Where hearts that here at parting sigh,
May meet-to part no more.

THE FIRST WANDERER.

CREATION's heir! the first, the last,
That knew the world his own:

Yet stood he 'mid his kingdom vast,

A fugitive-o'erthrown!

Faded and frail the glorious form,

And changed the soul within,

While pain, and grief, and strife, and storm, Told the dark secret-SIN!

Unaided and alone on earth,

He bade the heavens give ear;
But every star that sang his birth,
Kept silence in its sphere.

He saw round Eden's distant steep
Angelic legions stray :-

Alas! they were but sent to keep
His guilty foot away.

Then turn'd he reckless to his own,
The world before him spread ;
But nature's was an alter'd tone,
And spoke rebuke and dread.
Fierce thunder-peal, and rocking gale,
Answer'd the storm-swept sea,

While crashing forests joined the wail,
And all said," Cursed for thee!"

This spoke the lion's prowling roar ;

And this the victim's

cry:

This, written in defenceless gore,
For ever met his eye!

And not alone each fiercer Power

Proclaim'd just Heaven's decree : The faded leaf, the dying flower, Alike said," Cursed for thee!"

Though mortal, doom'd to many a length
Of life's now narrow span,

Sons rose around in pride and strength,-
They, too, proclaim'd the ban.
"Twas heard amid their hostile spears;
Own'd in the murderer's doom;
Seen in the widow's silent tears;

Felt in the infant's tomb.

Ask not the wanderer's after fate,
His being, birth, or name:
Enough that all have shared his state,
That MAN is still the same.

Still briar and thorn his life o'ergrow;
Still strives his soul within ;

And pain, and care, and sorrow show
The same dark secret,-SIN!

THE MISSIONARY.

He left his home, his native land,
The spot that gave him birth,
To spread the gospel, and to preach
Salvation through the earth.
He left each peaceful happy scene,
Which he in youth had trod,
But still he fainted not, his trust
And staff was Jacob's God.

He left his home-oh! none can tell
How much each well-known scene
Twines round the heart, and with it brings
The thought of what has been;
Each tree, each flower, to him endear'd
By memories fond and past,

Each sunny spot where he had stray'd,
On these he look'd his last.

He left his fertile, verdant fields
For Afric's burning plains,

The voices of beloved friends

For sands where silence reigns;

The thrush was wont to break his rest,
Low warbling near his door,

Like thunder these, the echoing rocks,
Give back the lion's roar.

All, all, he quits—that aged sire,
With locks of silver gray,

Who taught his childish tongue to speak,
His infant lips to pray.

He craved his blessing, on his neck
The weeping father hung-

"The Lord be with thee, 'tis His workHis will, not mine, be done."

He knelt before his mother's knee,
Where he, a babe, had slept,
Whose eye had watch'd his infancy,
And o'er his cradle wept ;

That mother's faith was firm and high,
And as she clasp'd her son,
She felt that his reward was sure,

His joy immortal won.

He held his brother's hand in his,

The playmate of his youth,

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