Call It Not Vain: They

Caution Comes Too Late When We Are In The Midst Of Evils.

What Various Scenes, And O! What Scenes Of Woe, Are Witness'd By That Red And Struggling Beam! The Fever'd Patient, From His Pallet Low, Through Crowded Hospitals Beholds It Stream; The Ruined Maiden Trembles At Its Gleam, The Debtor Wakes To Thought Of Gyve And Jail, The Love-lorn Wretch Starts From Tormenting Dream; The Wakeful Mother, By The Glimmering Pale, Trims Her Sick Infant's Couch, And Soothes His Feeble Wail.

The Happy Combination Of Fortuitous Circumstances.

The Tear, Down Childhood's Cheek That Flows, Is Like The Dewdrop On The Rose; When Next The Summer Breeze Comes By And Waves The Bush, The Flower Is Dry.

In Listening Mood She Seemed To Stand, The Guardian Naiad Of The Strand.