And now the day, the wish'd-for day, is come, When young Matilda may revisit home. "You quit me, child, but oft to mind recall The time you spent with me at Austere Hall. And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these To be your maid--take with you which you please. What! from Disorder do you frighten'd start?" Matilda clasp'd sweet Order to her heart, And said, "From thee, best friend, I'll never part." THE VIOLET. Down in a green and shady bed, A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colour bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there. Yet thus it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused a sweet perfume Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go This pretty flower to see; That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. [Illustration] THE ORPHAN. My father and mother are dead, Nor friend, nor relation I know; And now the cold earth is their bed, And daisies will over them grow. I cast my eyes into the tomb, The sight made me bitterly cry; I said, "And is this the dark room, Where my father and mother must lie?" I cast my eyes round me again, In hopes some protector to see; Alas! but the search was in vain, For none had compassion on me. I cast my eyes up to the sky, I groan'd, though I said not a word; Yet God was not deaf to my cry, The Friend of the fatherless heard. For since I have trusted his care, And learn'd on his word to depend, He has kept me from every snare, And been my best Father and Friend. [Illustration] THE DISAPPOINTMENT. In tears to her mother poor Harriet came, Let us listen to hear what she says: "O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, We cannot go out in the chaise. "All the week I have long'd for this holiday so, And fancied the minutes were hours; And now that I'm dress'd and all ready to go, Do look at those terrible showers!" "I'm sorry, my dear," her kind mother replied, The rain disappoints us to-day; But sorrow still more that you fret for a ride, In such an extravagant way. "These slight disappointments are sent to prepare For what may hereafter befall; For seasons of _real_ disappointment and care, Which commonly happen to all. "For just like to-day with its holiday lost, Is life and its comforts at best: Our pleasures are blighted, our purposes cross'd, To teach us it is not our rest. "And when those distresses and crosses appear, With which you may shortly be tried, You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear On merely the loss of a ride.