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“We sprang a leak, and the hungry waves

Rush'd in through every rip;
The boats were lowered, and the last of all,

Was I to leave the ship!

“ The boat in which I leaped was small,

To defy that ocean wild;
And, 'mongst others, it held the minister,

And the widow and her child,

“I was the sixth, yet how that boat

Could live was strange to me;
But it must have been the hand of God

That sustained her on that sea !

“Through three days' storm we toss'd about,

And then the waters fell,
When on the fourth there appeared in sight

A sail ; which we saw full well.

“We saw it like an archangel come

Nearer and yet more near :
O joy ! what a Heaven is in the hope

That cometh after fear !

" The dear young mother, it so appear'd,

Had calmly sunk to rest,
And the little lad lay in childhood's sleep,
With his head

upon

her breast.

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By this the welcome ship had come

Close up, to give us aid;
So we lifted them up with a woman's care,

And bade them not be afraid.

"We thought that their weight seemed heavy then,

But when the covering spread
Over both, for warmth, was removed away,

The mother, alas ! was dead!"

“But the lad," I exclaim'd, "the cruel storm

Did not the child destroy ?"
“Not so," my reputed uncle sobb’d,

For you were that same boy.
At this I grasp'd his horny hand,

And cried “God's will be done!
An orphan am I, but yet to thee

I will be, old man, à son !"
And I trust that I truly kept my word,

For I cherished him until death;
And in after years 'twas within
That he drew his latest breath.

(Copyright-Contributed.)

my arms

THE PASSIONATE FATHER.

MRS. PARTON.

“Greater is he who ruleth his spirit than lie who taketh a city.” “ COME here, sir !" said a strong, athletic man, as he seized a delicate-looking lad by the shoulder. “You've been in the water again, sir! Haven't I forbidden it ?!

“Yes, father, but —"
“No buts;' haven't I forbidden it, eh ?"

Yes, sir. I was“No reply, sir!" and the blows fell like a hail-storm about the child's head and shoulders.

Not a tear started from Harry's eye, but his face was deadly pale and his lips firmly compressed, as he rose and looked at his father with an unflinching eye.

“Go to your room, sir, and stay there till you are sent for. I'll master that spirit of yours

before many days older."

Ten minutes after, Harry's door opened, and his mother glided gently in. She was a fragile, delicate

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woman, with mournful blue eyes, and temples startlingly transparent. Laying her hand softly upon Harry's head, she stooped and kissed his forehead.

The rock was touched, and the waters gushed forth. "Dear mother!" said the weeping boy.

- * Why didn't you tell your father that you plunged into the water to save the life of your playmate ?".

“Did he give me a chance ?" said Harry, springing to his feet, with a flashing eye. “ Didn't he twice bid me be silent, when I tried to explain ? Mother, he's a tyrant to you and to me!" “Harry, he's my husband and your father !" Yes, and I'm sorry for it.

What have I ever had but blows and harsh words ? Look at your pale cheeks and sunken eyes, mother! It's too bad, I say !

He's a tyrant, mother!" said the boy, with a clenched fist and set teeth; "and if it were not for you, I would have been leagues off long ago. And there's Nellie, too, poor sick child! What good will all her medicine do her ? She trembles like a leaf when she hears his footsteps. I say 'tis brutal, mother."

“ Harry”—and a soft hand was laid on the impetuous boy's lips—"for my sake

"Well, 'tis only for your sake-yours and poor Nellie's—or I should be on the sea somewhere-anywhere but here."

Late that night, Mary Lee stole to her boy's bedside before retiring to rest. “God be thanked, he sleeps !" she murmured, as she shaded her lamp from his face. Then, kneeling at his bedside, she prayed for patience and wisdom to bear uncomplainingly the heavy cross under which her steps were faltering; and then she prayed for her husband.

“No, no, not that !” said Harry, starting from his pillow, and throwing his arms about her neck. “I can forgive him what he has done to me, but I will never forgive him what he has made you suffer. Don't pray for him, —at least, don't let me hear it !"

Mary Lee was too wise to expostulate. She knew her

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boy was spirit sore, under the sense of recent injustice; so she lay down beside him, and resting her tearful cheek against his, repeated in a low, sweet voice, the story of the crucifixion. “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do!” fell upon his troubled ear. He yielded to the holy spell.

“I will !” he sobbed. “Mother, you are an angel ; and if ever I get to heaven, it will be your hand that has led me there."

There was hurrying to and fro in Robert Lee's house that night. It was a heavy hand that dealt those angry blows on that young head!

The passionate father's repentance came too late, came with the word that his boy must die.

"Be kind to her !" said Harry, as his head dropped on his mother's shoulder.

It was a dearly-bought lesson! Beside that lifeless corpse Robert Lee renewed his marriage vow: and now when the hot blood of anger rises to his temples, and the hasty word springs to his lip, the pale face of the dead rises up between him and the offender, and an angelvoice whispers, “ Peace, be still !"

THE MOTHER.

CHARLES SWAIN.

"Oh thou! with whom my heart was wont to share,
From Reason's dawn, each pleasure and each care.'

ROGERS.

A SOFTENING thought of other years,

A feeling link'd to hours
When Life was all too bright for tears,-

And Hope sang, wreath'd with flowers !

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A memory of affections fled

— Of voices-heard no more! Stirred in my spirit when I read

That name of fondness o'er!

Oh, mother !--in that early word

What loves and joys combine;
What hopes—too oft, alas !-deferred;
What vigils---griefs—are thine !


Yet, never, till the hour we roam-

By worldly thralls opprest,
Learn we to prize that truest home--

A watchful mother's breast !
The thousand prayers at midnight pour'd

Beside our couch of woes; The wasting weariness endured

To soften our repose ! -
Whilst never murmur mark'd thy tongue-

Nor toils relaxed thy care :-
How, mother, is thy heart so strong

To pity and forbear?
What filial fondness e'er repaid

Or could repay the past ! -
Alas! for gratitude decay'd !

Regrets-that rarely last !
'Tis only when the dust is thrown

Thy lifeless bosom o'er;
We muse upon thy kindness shown-

And wish we'd loved thee more! 'Tis only when thy lips are cold

We mourn with late regret, 'Mid myriad memories of old

The days for ever set !
And not an act—nor look—nor thought-

Against thy meek control,
But with a sad remembrance fraught

Wakes anguish in the soul !

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