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ANTICIPATIONS OF THE COUNTRY.
This beautiful poem is by Mary Anne Browne, afterwards Mrs. James Gray, whose wondrous geuius was blighted by a premature death.
The summer sunshine falls
Mantling the dusty walls
The summer skies are bright,
Of human hearts, that fight
Summers have pass'd away
And still their earliest ray
A longing to be far
And not as travellers are;
It comes, it comes at last!
Ere many hours have past
The faint continuous hum
No more shall near me come,
No more the sultry street
Gladly I turn my feet
No more the whirling wheel,
Oh! how my heart will feel
Blessed to go away
And lightly o'er the spray
I shall be happy yet!
No more the world shall fret
Cease, thou too sanguine heart,
Too glad, too gay thou art,
Instead of dreamings vain,
Bethink thee of the pain
And think not happiness
And think not from distress
Be fill'd with grateful joy,
Where little the alloy
Yet for the common lot
Even in that lonely spot,
Thus should the thankful soul
"Thou dost all hearts control,
"Thy hand hath guided me,
I bless thee thankfully,
But, midst each lovely scene,
And know thy hand hath been
"By every happy bird.
May my full heart be stirr'd
By every glorious star,
Send wisdom from afar
"The dew when day is done
By the pure rising sun
By every wayside flower,
By every day and hour,
This very clever poem was contributed to a periodical called The Germ, commenced by a party of young Authors and Artists, whose names are now famous. The writer is Ellen Alleyn.
I Said of laughter: It is vain;—
Therein, how ease and also pain,
How health and sickness, every one
Is vanity beneath the sun.
Man walks in a vain shadow; he
Disquieteth himself in vain.
The things that were shall be again.
Our treasures, moth and rust corrupt;
Or thieves break through and steal: or they
One man made merry as he supp'd,
Nor guess'd how when that night grew dim,
His soul would be required of him.
We build our houses on the sand
To beat on them, they cannot stand!
They perish, quickly overthrown,
Loose at the hidden basement stone.
All things are vanity, I said:
Yea vanity of vanities.
The rich man dies; and the poor dies: The worm feeds sweetly on the dead. Whatso thou lackest, keep this trust:— All in the end shall have but dust.
The one inheritance, which best
And worst alike shall find and share. The wicked cease from troubling there,
And there the weary are at rest;
There all the wisdom of the wise
Is vanity of vanities.
Man flourishes as a green leaf,
Our eyes cannot be satisfied
With seeing; nor our ears be fill'd With hearing: yet we plant and build, And buy, and make our borders wide: We gather wealth, we gather care, But know not who shall be our heir.
Why should we hasten to arise
Hopes fade; our heart is stay'd on lies:
Verily, we sow wind; and we
Shall reap the whirlwind, verily.
He who hath little shall not lack;
He who hath plenty shall decay:
Our fathers went; we pass away;
The earth is fatten'd with our dead;
She swallows more and doth not cease;
Therefore her wine and oil increase And her sheaves are not numbered; Therefore her plants are green, and all Her pleasant trees lusty and tall.
Therefore the maidens cease to sing,
And the young men are very sad;
Therefore the sowing is not glad,
A king dwelt in Jerusalem:
He was the wisest man on earth;
He had all riches from his birth, And pleasures till he tired of them: Then, having tested all things, he Witness'd that all are vanity.
If thou wilt ease thine heart
Then sleep, dear, sleep;
Hang any tear on your eyelashes;
Lie still and deep,