Farewell, bless'd hours! full fast ye flew; And that which made your bliss so true Ye would not leave behind. The glow of youth ye could not leave; But why, why cruelly bereave Me of my artless mind? Fond mother! hope thy bosom warms, That on the prattler in thy arms Heaven's choicest gifts may flow. Thus let thy prayer incessant rise To Him, who, thron'd above the skies, Can feel for man below. "Oh! Thou, whose view is ne'er estrang'd From innocence, preserve unchang'd Through life my darling's mind; Unchang'd in truth and purity, Still fearless of futurity, Still artless, though refin'd. "As oft his anxious nurse hath caught And sav'd his little hand that sought The bright, but treacherous blaze; So, let fair Wisdom keep him sure From glittering vices which allure, Through life's delusive maze. "Oh! may the ills which man enshroud, As shadows of a transient cloud, But shade, not stain my boy. Then may he gently drop to rest, Calm as a child by sleep oppress'd, And wake to endless joy." SPRING IS COMING. BY JAMES NACK. Spring is coming, spring is coming, Birds are chirping, insects humming; Flowers are peeping from their sleeping, Streams escaped from winter's keeping. In delighted freedom rushing, Dance along in music gushing, Scenes of late in deadness saddened, Smile in animation gladdened; All is beauty, all is mirth, All is glory upon earth. Shout we then with Nature's voice, Welcome Spring! rejoice! rejoice! Spring is coming, come, my brother, Let us rove with one another, To our well-remembered wild wood, Flourishing in nature's childhood; Where a thousand flowers are springing, And a thousand birds are singing; Where the golden sunbeams quiver On the verdure-girdled river; Let our youth of feeling out, To the youth of nature shout, While the waves repeat our voice, Welcome Spring! rejoice! rejoice! FROM A FATHER TO HIS CHILDREN, AFTER HAVING HAD HIS PORTRAIT TAKEN FOR THEM. BY C. C. MOORE. This semblance of your parent's time-worn face Is but a sad bequest, my children dear: Its youth and freshness gone, and in their place The lines of care, the tracks of many a tear! Amid life's wreck, we struggle to secure Some floating fragment from oblivion's wave: We pant for somewhat that may still endure, And snatch at least a shadow from the grave. Poor, weak, and transient mortals! why so vain Of manly vigour or of beauty's bloom? An empty shade for ages may remain When we have mouldered in the silent tomb. But no! it is not _we_ who moulder there; We, of essential light that ever burns, We take our way through untried fields of air, When to the earth this earth-born frame returns.