Joy to my bosom! rest to my fear! Judea's prophet draweth near! Joy to my bosom! peace to my heart! Sickness and sorrow before him depart! Rack'd with agony and pain, Writhing long, my child has lain; Now the prophet draweth near, All our griefs shall disappear. “Lord!” she cried, with mournful breath, “Save! Oh, save my child from death!” But as though she was unheard, Jesus answered not a word. With a purpose nought could move, And the zeal of woman's love, Down she knelt in anguish wild— “Master! save, Oh! save my child!”

“Tis not meet,” the Savior said, “Thus to waste the children's bread; I am only sent to seek Israel's lost and scattered sheep.” “True,” said,” O gracious Lord! True and faithful is thy word; But the humblest, meanest, may Eat the crumbs they cast away.” “Woman,” said th' astonish'd Lord, “Be it even as thy word! By thy faith that knows no fail, Thou hast ask'd, and shalt prevail.”

Heard you that shriek? It rose So wildly on the air, It seem'd as if a burden'd heart Was breaking in despair. Saw you those hands so sadly clasped— The bowed and feeble head— The shuddering of that fragile form— That look of grief and dread? 0006 7Saw you the sad, imploring eye? Its every glance was pain, As if a storm of agony Were sweeping through the brain. She is a mother pale with fear, Her boy clings to her side, And in her kyrtle vainly tries His trembling form to hide. He is not hers, although she bore For him a mother's pains; He is not hers, although her blood is coursing through his veins! He is not hers, for cruel hands May rudely tear apart The only wreath of household love That binds her breaking heart. His love has been a joyous light That o'er her pathway smiled, A fountain gushing ever new, Amid life's desert wild. His lightest word has been a tone Of music round her heart, Their lives a streamlet blent in one— Oh, Father! must they part? 0007 8They tear him from her circling arms, Her last and fond embrace:— Oh! never more may her sad eyes Gaze on his mournful face. No marvel, then, these bitter shrieks Disturb the listening air; She is a mother, and her heart Is breaking in despair.

Take sackcloth of the darkest dye, And shroud the pulpits round! Servants of Him that cannot lie, Sit mourning on the ground. Let holy horror blanch each cheek, Pale every brow with fears; And rocks and stones, if ye could speak, Ye well might melt to tears! Let sorrow breathe in every tone, In every strain ye raise; Insult not God's majestic throne With th' mockery of praise 0008 9A “reverend” man, whose light should be The guide of age and youth, Brings to the shrine of Slavery The sacrifice of truth! For the direst wrong by man imposed, Since Sodom's fearful cry, The word of life has been unclos'd, To give your God the lie. Oh! when ye pray for heathen lands, And plead for their dark shores, Remember Slavery's cruel hands Make heathens at your doors!

Like a fawn from the arrow, startled and wild, A woman swept by us, bearing a child; In her eye was the night of a settled despair, And her brow was o'ershaded with anguish and care. She was nearing the river—in reaching the brink, She heeded no danger, she paused not to think! For she is a mother—her child is a slave— And she'll give him his freedom, or find him a grave! 0009 10Twas a vision to haunt us, that innocent face— So pale in its aspect, so fair in its grace; As the tramp of the horse and the bay of the hound, With the fetters that gall, were trailing the ground! She was nerved by despair, and strengthen'd by woe, As she leap'd o'er the chasms that yawn'd from below; Death howl'd in the tempest, and rav'd in the blast, But she heard not the sound till the danger was past. Oh! how shall I speak of my proud country's shame? Of the stains on her glory, how give them their name? How say that her banner in mockery waves— Her “star-spangled banner"—o'er millions of slaves?. How say that the lawless may torture and chase A woman whose crime is the hue of her face? How the depths of the forest may echo around With the shrieks of despair, and the bay of the hound? With her step on the ice, and her arm on her child, The danger was fearful, the pathway was wild; But, aided by Heaven, she gained a free shore, Where the friends of humanity open'd their door. So fragile and lovely, so fearfully pale, Like a lily that bends to the breath of the gale, Save the heave of her breast, and the sway of her hair, You'd have thought her a statue of fear and despair. 0010 11In agony close to her bosom she press'd The life of her heart, the child of her breast:— Oh! love from its tenderness gathering might, Had strengthen'd her soul for the dangers of flight. But she's free!—yes, free from the land where the slave From the hand of oppression must rest in the grave; Where bondage and torture, where scourges and chains Have plac'd on our banner indelible stains. The bloodhounds have miss'd the scent of her way; The hunter is rifled and foil'd of his prey; Fierce jargon and cursing, with clanking of chains, Make sounds of strange discord on Liberty's plains. With the rapture of love and fullness of bliss, She plac'd on his brow a mother's fond kiss:— Oh! poverty, danger and death she can brave, For the child of her love is no longer a slave!

Yes! Ethiopia yet shall stretch Her bleeding hands abroad; Her cry of agony shall reach The burning throne of God. 0011 12The tyrant's yoke from off her neck, His fetters from her soul, The mighty hand of God shall break, And spurn the base control. Redeemed from dust and freed from chains, Her sons shall lift their eyes; From cloud-capt hills and verdant plains Shall shouts of triumph raise. Upon her dark despairing brow, Shall play a smile of peace; For God shall bend unto her wo, And bid her sorrows cease. 'Neath sheltering vines and stately palms Shall laughing children play, And aged sires with joyous psalms Shall gladden every day. Secure by night, and blest by day, Shall pass her happy hour; Nor human tigers hunt for prey Within her peaceful bowers. Then, Ethiopia! stretch, oh! stretch Thy bleeding hands abroad; Thy cry of agony shall reach And find redress form God.

He stood beside his dying child, With a dim and bloodshot eye; They'd won him from the haunts of vice To see his first born die. He came with a slow and staggering tread, A vague, unmanning stare, And reeling, clasped the clammy hand, So deathly pale and fair. In dark and gloomy chamber. Life ebbing fast away, On a coarse and wretched pallet, The dying sufferer lay: A smile of recognition Lit up the glazing eye; “I'm very glad,” it seemed to say, “You've come to see me die.” That smile reached to his callous heart, Its sealed fountains stirred; He tried to speak, but on his lips Faltered and died every word. And burning tears like rain Poured down his bloated face, Where guilt, remorse and shame Had scathed, and left their trace. 0013 14“My father” said the dying child, (His voice was faint and low,) “Oh! clasp me closely to your heart, And kiss me e'er I go. Bright angels beckon me away, To the holy city fair— Oh! tell me father, ere I go, Say, will you meet me there?” He clasped him to his throbbing heart, “I will!” he said; His pleading ceas'd—the father held His first-born and his dead! The marble brow, with golden curls, Lay lifeless on his breast; Like sunbeams on the distant clouds Which line the gorgeous west.

The sale began-young girls were there, Defenceless in their wretchedness, Whose stifled sobs of deep despair Revealed their anguish and distress. 0014 15And mothers stood, with streaming eyes, And saw their dearest children sold; Unheeded rose their bitter cries, While tyrants barter'd them for gold. And woman, with her love and truth— For these in sable forms may dwell— Gaz'd on the husband of her youth, With anguish none may paint or tell. And men, whose sole crime was their hue, The impress of their Maker's hand, And frail and shrinking children too, Were gathered in that mournful band. Ye who have laid your lov'd to rest, And wept above their lifeless clay, Know not the anguish of that breast, Whose lov'd are rudely torn away. Ye may not know how desolate Are bosoms rudely forced to part, And how a dull and heavy weight Will press the life-drops from the heart.

“ He knoweth not that the dead are there.” In yonder halls reclining, Are forms surpassing fair, And brilliant lights are shining, But, oh! the dead are there! There's music, song and dance, There's banishment of care, And mirth in every glance, But, oh! the dead are there! The wine cup's sparkling glow Blends with the viands rare, There is revelry and show, But still, the dead are there! 'Neath that flow of song and mirth, Runs the current of despair, But the simple sons of earth Know not the dead are there! They'll weep in wild despair, When the solemn truth breaks on them, That the dead, the dead are there!

Oh! crush it not, that hope so blest, Which cheers the fainting heart, And points it to the coming rest, Where sorrow has no part. Tear from my heart each worldly prop, Unbind each earthly string, But to this blest and glorious hope, Oh! let my spirit cling. It cheer'd amid the days of old, Each holy patriarch's breast; It was an anchor to their souls, Upon it let me rest. When wandering in dens and caves, In sheep and goat skins dress'd, A peel'd and scatter'd people learned To know this hope was blest. Help me, amid this world of strife, To long for Christ to reign, That when He brings the crown of life, I may that crown obtain.

The light was faintly streaming Within a darkened room, Where a woman, faint and feeble, Was sinking to the tomb. The silver cord was loosened, We knew that she must die; We read the mournful token In the dimness of her eye. We read it in the radiance That lit her pallid check, And the quivering of the feeble lip, Too faint its joys to speak. Like a child oppressed with slumber, She calmly sank to rest, With her trust in the Redeemer, And her head upon His breast. She faded from our vision, Like a thing of love and light; But we feel she lives for ever, A spirit pure and bright.

I Heard, my young friend, You were seeking a wife, A woman to make Your companion for life. Now, if you are seeking A wife for your youth, Let this be your aim, then— Seek a woman of truth. She may not have talents, With greatness combined, Her gifts may be humble, Of person and mind: But if she be constant, And gentle, and true, Believe me, my friend, She's the woman for you! Oh! wed not for beauty, Though fair is the prize; It may pall when you grasp it, And fade in your eyes. Let gold not allure you, Let wealth not attract; 0019 20With a house full of treasure, A woman may lack. Let her habits be frugal, Her hands not afraid To work in her household, Or follow her trade. Let her language be modest, Her actions discreet; Her manners refined, And free from deceit. Now, if such you should find, In your journey through life, Just open your mind, And make her your wife.

“She said, If I may but touch his clothes, I shall be whole.” Life to her no brightness brought, Pale and stricken was her brow, Till a bright and joyous thought Lit the darkness of her woe. Long had sickness on her preyed, Strength from every nerve had gone; Skill and art could give no aid: Thus her weary life passed on. Like a sad and mournful dream, Daily felt she life depart, Hourly knew the vital stream Left the fountain of her heart. 0021 22He who lull'd the storm to rest, Cleans'd the lepers, rais'd the dead, Whilst a crowd around him press'd, Near that suffering one did tread. Nerv'd by blended hope and fear, Reasoned thus her anxious heart: “If to touch him I draw near, All my suffering shall depart. “While the crowd around him stand, I will touch,” the sufferer said; Forth she reached her timid hand— As she touched, her sickness fled. “Who hath touched me?” Jesus cried, “Virtue from my body's gone.” From the crowd a voice replied, “Why inquire in such a throng?” Faint with fear, through every limb, Yet too grateful to deny, Tremblingly she knelt to him, “Lord!” she answered, “it was I!' Kindly, gently, Jesus said— Words like balm unto her soul— “Peace upon thy life be shed! Child! thy faith hath made thee whole!”

They forced him into prison, Because he begged for bread; “My wife is starving-dying!” In vain the poor man plead. * They forced him into prison, Strong bars enclosed the walls, While the rich and proud were feasting Within their sumptuous halls. He'd striven long with anguish, Had wrestled with despair; But his weary heart was breaking 'Neath its crushing load of care. And he prayed them in that prison, “Oh, let me seek my wife!” For he knew that want was feeding On the remnant of her life. That night his wife lay moaning Upon her bed in pain; Hunger gnawing at her vitals, Fever scorching through her brain. 0023 24She wondered at his tarrying, He was not wont to stay; Mid hunger, pain and watching, The moments waned away. Sadly crouching by the embers, Her famished children lay; And she longed to gaze upon them, As her spirit passed away. But the embers were too feeble, She could not see each face, So she clasped her arms around them— 't was their mother's last embrace. 'they loosed him from his prison, As a felon from his chain; Though his strength was hunger bitter, He sought his home again. Just as her spirit linger'd On Time's receding shore, She heard his welcome footstep. On the threshhold of the door. He was faint and spirit-broken, But, rousing from despair, He clasped her icy fingers, As she breathed her dying prayer. 0024 25With a gentle smile and blessing, Her spirit winged its flight, As the morn, in all its glory, Bathed the world in dazzling light. There was weeping, bitter weeping, In the chamber of the dead, For well the stricken husband knew She had died for want of bread.

“When the noble mother of Lovejoy heard of her son's death, she said, 'It is well! I had rather he should die so than desert his principles.”

The murmurs of a distant strife Fell on a mother's ear; Her son had yielded up his life, Mid scenes of wrath and fear. They told her how he'd spent his breath In pleading for the dumb, And how the glorious martyr wreath Her child had nobly won. 0025 26They told her of his courage high, Mid brutal force and might; How he had nerved himself to die, In battling for the right. It seemed as if a fearful storm Swept wildly round her soul; A moment, and her fragile form Bent'neath its fierce control. From lip and brow the color fled- But light flashed to her eye: “'t is well! 'tis well!” the mother said, “That thus my child should die. “'t is well that, to his latest breath, He plead for liberty; Truth nerved him for the hour of death, And taught him how to die. “It taught him how to cast aside Earth's honors and renown; To trample on her fame and pride, And win a martyr's crown.”

It was my sad and weary lot To toil in slavery; But one thing cheered my lowly cot— My husband was with me. One evening, as our children played Around our cabin door, I noticed on his brow a shade I'd never seen before. And in his eyes a gloomy night Of anguish and despair;— I gazed upon their troubled light, To read the meaning there. He strained me to his heaving heart— My own beat wild with fear; I knew not, but I sadly felt There must be evil near. He vainly strove to cast aside The tears that fell like rain:— Too frail, indeed, is manly pride To strive with grief and pain. 0027 28Again he clasped me to his breast, And said that we must part: I tried to speak—but, oh! it seemed An arrow reached my heart. “Bear not,” I cried, “unto your grave, The yoke you've borne from birth, No longer live a helpless slave, The meanest thing on earth!”

They scorned her for her sinning, Spoke harshly of her fall Nor lent the hand of mercy To break her hated thrall. The dews of meek repentance Stood in her downcast eye: Would no one heed her anguish? All pass her coldly by? From the cold, averted glances Of each reproachful eye, 0028 29She turned aside, heart-broken, And laid her down to die. And where was he, who sullied Her once unspotted name: Who lured her from life's brightness To agony and shame? Who left on life's billows, A wrecked and ruined thing; Who brought the winter of despair Upon Hope's blooming spring? Through the halls of wealth and fashion, In gaiety and pride, He was leading to the altar A fair and lovely bride! None scorned him for his sinning, Few saw it through his gold; His crimes were only foibles, And these were gently told.

* * * * * * * * * Before him rose a vision, A maid of beauty rare; Then a pale, heart-broken woman, The image of despair. 0029 30next came a sad procession, With many a sob and tear; A widow'd, childless mother Totter'd by an humble bier. The vision quickly faded, The sad, unwelcome sight; But his lip forgot its laughter, And his eye its careless light. A moment, and the flood-gates Of memory opened wide; And remorseful recollection Flowed like a lava tide. That widow's wail of anguish Seemed strangely blending there, And mid the soft lights floated That image of despair.

* * * * * * *

> He came—a wander—years of sin Had blanched his blooming cheek, Telling a tale of strife within, That words might vainly speak. 0030 31His feet were bare, his garments torn, His brow was deadly white; His heart was bleeding, crushed and worn, His soul had felt a blight. His father saw him; pity swept And yearn'd through every vein; He ran and clasp'd his child, and wept, Murm'ring, “He lives again!” “Father, I've come, but not to claim Aught from thy love or grace; I come, a child of guilt and shame, To beg a servant's place.” “Enough! enough!” the father said, “Bring robes of princely cost!”- The past with all its shadows fled, For now was found the lost. “Put shoes upon my poor child's feet, With rings his hand adorn, And bid my house his coming greet With music, dance and song.” Oh! Savior, mid this world of strife, When wayward here we roam, Conduct us to the paths of life, And guide us safely home. 0031 32Then in thy holy courts above, Thy praise our lips shall sound, While angels join our song of love, That we, the lost, are found!

Farewell, father! I am dying, Going to the “glory land,” Where the sun is ever shining, And the zephyr's ever bland. Where the living fountains flowing, Quench the pining spirit's thirst; Where the tree of life is growing, Where the crystal fountains burst. Father! hear that music holy Floating from the spirit land! At the pearly gates of glory, Radiant angels waiting stand. Father! kiss your dearest Eva, Press her cold and clammy hand, Ere the glittering hosts receive her, Welcome to their cherub band.