Book 8 — MY GARDEN

I have a little garden plot, 'Tis very small indeed; But yet it is a pleasant spot, And plenty large enough, I wot, When out-door work I need.

Two woodbines flourish at my door, And climb above its porch; One yields of grateful scent a store, One flowers till all the summer's o'er And winter days approach.

And o'er the walls grape vines are spread, Which bring delicious fruit; These also sweetest odors shed, And please my senses till I'm led To hold them in repute.

And then I have of peach trees three, Which have begun to bear, And 'tis a pleasing sight to see My somewhat numerous family All eager for a share.

Three apple trees I next would name, Though fruit they ne'er gave me; For this their tender age I blame, And other cause I cannot name, And so I wait to see.

Some berry trees I also boast, And these of different kinds. Of flowering shrubs I have a host, Which did in cash and labor cost What might affright some minds.

Four kinds of lilac here are grown, One double flowering cherry, And weeping ditto, not much known; Eight different sorts of rose I own, And shrub that yields snowberry.

Of lily yea, and crocus, too, I've some varieties, And monkshood, pinks, and violets blue, Of double almonds not a few, With two kinds of peonies.

Some polyanthus and foxglove, Sea-pinks, and columbine, Sweet-scented tulips, which I love, Whose beauty has e'en power to move A heart less fond than mine.

The daisy and sunflower tall, Present a contrast great; One like to him who, proud in soul, Expects his fellow men to fall Submissive at his feet.

The other, like true modesty, Scarce lifts its lovely head Lest you its secret charms should see— Just like a lovely maid, when she Is to vain-glory dead.

Sweet-briar and sweet-william claim A notice from my pen, For each of these can boast of fame;— Are better known than my poor name Among the race of men.

My hollyhocks and lichens fine, Spread out their charms to view, And other pretty flowers are mine— To speak whose praises I incline, If but their names I knew.

Of annuals I have but few, That fact I fully grant; Yet I have larkspur, pink and blue, And double poppies of rich hue. To serve me while the summer's new I've beds of rhubarb plant.

Some household herbs and fragrant thyme, With lettuce, sage, and mint, Complete my stock; but had I time A lingering lesson swells my rhyme With many a moral hint.

That as we rear in summer's glow. Herbs, fruits and flowerets fair, So may we in our natures grow Sweet flowers that may hereafter blow In Heaven's serener air.

The Inebriate's Daughter's Appeal to Her Father.

One frosty night in bright moonlight, I left my cheerful home; My thoughts were such I cared not much Which way I chanced to roam. With firmest tread my way I thread Through many a winding street When drunkard's voice in tones not choice, My startled ear did meet.

He cursed a girl whose hair in curl Bespoke a tidy mother; Whose clothes, though plain, wore not a stain, Yet grief her words did smother Her beauteous eyes told then no lies While she looked at the man. As nature brought the words she sought, She this appeal began:

"Oh, father, leave this wretched place, And hasten home with me; For mother and the darling babe Are in sad misery! They have not tasted any food Since morn of yesterday. Yet you should hear that mother dear For blessings on you pray.

"For when she prays aloud for you, Her tears they flow apace, And deepest crimson doth suffuse Her ever lovely face. She says that she must leave us all Before 'tis very long, To go to yonder Heaven above, And join in Angel's song.

"And when she looks at our dear babe Her tears flow forth again; Yet never does she, father dear, In words of you complain, But says that she will try to make A happy home for you. Come ill, come well, whate'er betide, She'll loving be and true.

"O, father, hasten with me, then, Before my mother die! When I left home, your charming boy Most piteously did cry; It would have moved a heart of stone To see the tears he shed; His shrieks make worse the dreadful pain In mother's throbbing head!"

The drunkard stood in solemn mood, In riveted attention. This strong appeal did make him feel Most serious apprehension. He took the hand of maiden bland, And hastened fast away; Nor turned his face on that dread place Which had made him its prey.

They reached the house where that dear spouse Was breathing out her soul. From sense of sin he rushes in, Nor could himself control. Upon his knees in agonies He cries aloud, "My wife, Do speak to me, for I will be A husband, dear, through life!"

No voice there came; the vital flame Had fled, of child and mother. He could not stay, so turned away, With look that made me shudder. That little girl with hair in curl At last to him doth speak: "My father dear, your heart I'll cheer, And blessings for you seek.

"How We must pray, she taught the way Who now has gone to bliss. Nor would I be the least degree In duty found remiss." Her artless strain made him refrain From purposes most foul. In after years she calmed his fears, And saved at last his soul.

To the Children in Mrs. Day's School.

1853.

My dearest children, do you know That best of all things here below, And knowing, you should always show To one another Which when received doth warm the breast, To troubled souls imparts sweet rest, And makes each near connection blest— Of friend or brother.

This precious thing has power to melt Man's stubborn heart, as I have felt, Subdue all sins that ever dwelt In men benighted. If o'er this world 'twere shed abroad, The soldier soon might sheathe his sword, And God alone would be adored, And all things righted.

What is this thing of which I speak? It can be found by those who seek, With willing mind and spirit meek, Intent on finding. It has its origin above, More beauteous is than any dove; Those who have felt it know 'tis Love, And well worth minding.

Where was this love most clearly seen My children you can tell, I ween. The truth both old and young may glean From Scripture's pages. For there we read that Jesus came To suffer death, endure the shame, That he might free us from all blame, Throughout all ages.