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I knew that my Re deemer lived;

I did not fear to die—
Full sure that I should rise again

To immortality.

I longed to view that bliss divine

Which eye hath never seen; Like Moses, I would see His face

Without the veil between.


Oppressed with sin and woe,

A burdened heart I bear, Opposed by many a mighty foe;

But I will not despair.

With this polluted heart

I dare to come to Thee, Holy and mighty as Thou art,

For Thou wilt pardon me.

I feel that I am weak,

And prone to every sin; But Thou who giv'st to those who seek

Wilt give me strength within.

Far as this earth may be

From yonder starry skies,
Remoter still am I from Thee;

Yet Thou wilt not despise.

I need not fear my foes,

I need not yield to care;
I need not sink beneath my woes,

For Thou wilt answer prayer.

In my Redeemer's name
I give myself to Thee;

And, all unworthy as I am,
My God will cherish me.

My sister Anne had to taste the cup of life as it is mixed for the class termed " Governesses."

The following are some of the thoughts that now anc then solace a governess :—


Though bleak these woods and damp the ground,
With fallen leaves so thickly strewn,

And cold the wind that wanders round
With wild and melancholy moan,

There is a friendly roof, I know,

Might shield me from the wintry blast;

There is a fire whose ruddy glow
Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

And so, though still, where'er I go,
Cold stranger glances meet my eye;

Though, when my spirit sinks in woe,
Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh;

Though solitude, endured too long,
Bids youthful joys too soon decay,

Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue,
And overclouds my noon of day;

When kindly thoughts that would have way
Flow back, discouraged, to my breast,

I know there is, though far away,

A home where heart and soul may rest.

Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine,

The warmer heart will not belie; While mirth and truth and friendship shine

In smiling lip and earnest bye.

The ice that gathers round my heart

May there be thawed; and sweetly, then,

The joys of youth, that now depart,
Will come to cheer my soul again.

Though far I roam, that thought shall be

My hope, my comfort everywhere; While such a home remains to me,

My heart shall never know despair.


Believe not those who say
The upward path is smooth,

Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way
And faint before the truth.

It is the only road

Unto the realms of joy;
But he who seeks that blest abode

Must all his powers employ.

Bright hopes and pure delight
Upon his course may beam;

And there, amid the sternest heights,
The sweetest flowerets gleam.

On all her breezes borne,

Earth yields no scents like those;
But he that dares not grasp the thorn

Should never crave the rose.

Arm—arm thee for the fight;
Cast useless loads away.

Watch through the darkest hours of night; Toil through the hottest day.

Crush pride into the dust,

Or thou must needs be slack; And trample down rebellious lust, . Or it will hold thee back.

Seek not thy honour here;

Waive pleasure and renown; The world's dread scoff undaunted bear,

And face its deadliest frown.

To labour and to love,

To pardon and endure,
To lift thy heart to God above,

And keep thy conscience pure—

Be this thy constant aim,
Thy hope, thy chief delight.

What matter who should whisper blame,
Or who should scorn or slight?

What matter, if thy God approve,

And if, within thy breast,
Thou feel the comfort of His love,

The earnest of His rest?


Why should such gloomy silence reign,
And why is all the house so drear,

When neither danger, sickness, pain,

Nor death, nor want, have entered here?

We are as many as we were

That other night, when all were gay, And full of hope, and free from care;

Yet is there something gone away.

The moon without as pure and calm

Is shining as that night she shone; But now to us she brings no balm,

For something from our hearts is goneSomething whose absence leaves a void,

A cheerless want in every heart; Each feels the bliss of all destroyed,

And mourns the change—but each apart.

The fire is burning in the grate

As redly as it used to burn; But still the hearth is desolate,

Till mirth, and love, and peace return.

'Twas peace that flowed from heart to heart,
With looks and smiles that spoke of heaven,

And gave us language to impart

The blissful thoughts itself had given.

Domestic peace, best joy of earth,
When shall we all thy value learn?

White angel, to our sorrowing hearth
Return—oh, graciously return!


Spirit of Earth, thy hand is chill:

I've felt its icy clasp;
And, shuddering, I remember still

That stony-hearted grasp.
Thine eye bids love and joy depart.

Oh, turn its gaze from me!
It presses down my shrinking heart;

I will not walk with thee.

'Wisdom is mine," I've heard thee say. "Beneath my searching eye

* First published in Fraser's Magazine.

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