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The sorrows of thy youthful day
Shall make thee wise in coming years;

The brightest rainbows ever play

Above the fountains of our tears."

Youth frowned, but Sorrow gently smiled;

Upon his heart her hand she laid,

And all its hidden sympathies

Throbbed to the fingers of the Maid.

And when his head grew grey with Time,
He owned that Sorrow spoke the truth,

And that the harvest of his prime
Was ripened by the rains of Youth.

FRANCES BROWN.

THE HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION.

SUGGESTED BY THE REMARK OF AN AFRICAN CHIEF TO A MISSIONARY.

THY Voice hath filled our forest shades,

Child of the sunless shore!

For never heard the ancient glades

Such wondrous words before.

Though bards our land of palms have filled

With tales of joy or dread,

Yet thou alone our souls hast thrilled

With tidings of her dead.

The men of old, who slept in death
Before the forests grew,

Whose glory faded here beneath,
While yet the hills were new,-
The warriors famed in battles o'er,
Of whom our fathers spake,-

The wise, whose wisdom shines no more,-
Stranger, will they awake?

The foes who fell in thousand fights.

Beneath my conquering brand,—

Whose bones have strewn the Caffer's heights,.
The Bushman's lonely land,-

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The young, who shared my warrior-way,

But found an early urn,

And the roses of my youth's bright day--
Stranger, will they return?

My mother's face was fair to see-
My father's glance was bright,-
But long ago the grave from me
Hath hid their blessed light;

Still sweeter was the sunshine shed
By my lost children's eyes,
That beam upon me from the dead,-
Stranger, will they arise?

Was it some green grave's early guest,
Who loved thee long and well,
That left the land of dreamless rest,

Such blessed truths to tell?
For we have had our wise ones, too,
Who feared not death's abyss,—
The strong in hope, in love the true,-
But none that dreamed of this!

Yet, if the grave restore to life
Her ransomed spoils again,
And ever hide the hate and strife
That died with wayward men ;—
How hath my spirit missed the star
That guides our steps above ;-
Since only earth was given to war,-
That better land to love!

ALL THINGS NEW.

"And He that sat upon the Throne said, Behold, I make all things new.”

NEW Heavens! for the stars grow pale

With the midnight scenes of time!

And the sun is weary of the wail

That meets him in every clime :

And the sky grows dim with the mist of tearsBring back the blue of its first, bright years!

New Earth! for the land and waves
With a weight of evil groan ;

And its dwellings stand in a soil of graves,
Which fearful things have known:

From the touch of fire, from the battle-stain,
Gives us its Eden green again!

New Law! for 'tis the arm of wrong,

And great hath been the cry

When oppressors' hands in their might grew strong,
And their deeds have pierced the sky :-
:-
But the powers are shaken ;-oh! requite
With the free, unchanging law of right.

New Faith! for a voice of blood

Hath been heard from every shrine,

And the world hath worshipped many a God
With rites it deemed divine:-
:-

But the creeds grow old, and the fanes decay :-
Show us, at last, some better way!

New Hope! for it rose among

The thorns of a barren spot,

Where the bloom is brief and the labour long,

And the harvest cometh not :

And hearts grow weary that watch and wait-
Give them a rainbow that fears not fate!

New Love! for it hath been cast

On the troubled waters, long,
And hoped in visions vain that passed
Away, like a night-bird's song:-

It may not be severed from the lost,-

But give us the young world's love uncross'd !

New Life give the summers back

Whose glory passed in vain,

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