And wandering flocks, that roam and bleat.

3 Far off, the early horseman hies,
In shower or sunshine rushing on;
Yonder the dusty whirlwind flies;
The distant coach is seen and gone.

4 Though solitude around is spread,
Master, alone thou shalt not be;
And when the turf is on thy head,
I only shall remember thee!

5 I marked his look of faithful care,
I placed my hand on his shaggy side;
There is a sun that shines above,
A sun that shines on both, I cried.

* * * * *

THE WITHERED LEAF.

1 Oh! mark the withered leaves that fall
In silence to the ground;
Upon the human heart they call,
And preach without a sound.

2 They say, So passes man's brief year!
To-day, his green leaves wave;
To-morrow, changed by time, and sere,
He drops into the grave.

3 Let Wisdom be our sole concern,
Since life's green days are brief!
And faith and heavenly hope shall learn
A lesson from the LEAF.

* * * * *

THE GIPSY'S TENT.

1 When now cold winter's snows are fled,
And birds sing blithe again,
Look where the gipsy's tent is spread,
In the green village lane.

2 Oft by the old park pales, beneath
The branches of the oak,
The watchdog barks, when, in slow wreath,
Curls o'er the woods the smoke.

3 No home receives the wandering race;
The panniered ass is nigh,
Which patient bears from place to place
Their infant progeny.

4 Lo! houseless o'er the world they stray,
But I at home will dwell,
Where I may read my book and pray,
And hear the Sabbath-bell.

* * * * *

MY FATHER'S GRAVE.

1 My father's grave, I heard her say,
And marked a stealing tear;
Oh, no! I would not go away,
My father's grave is here!

2 A thousand thronging sympathies
The lonely spot endear,
And every eve remembrance sighs,
My father's grave is here!

3 Some sudden tears unbidden start,
As spring's gay birds I hear,
For all things whisper to my heart,
My father's grave is here!

4 Young hope may blend each colour gay,
And fairer views appear;
But, no! I will not go away,
My father's grave is here!

* * *