-
Articles/Ads
Article A MASON'S STORY. ← Page 3 of 3 Article TO POVERTY. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Mason's Story.
There is one figure , however , sitting at the back of the church , and that is Pewrhyn ' s would-be rival . As everybody else appears to ignore him , we will follow their example . And Mary . Has she no doubts or fears for the future ? She has many of them . Not for her husband , however , for she knows he is as true and honest a man as was ever created in the image of his Maker ; but for herself , lest she
should not prove worthy of such a one . Penrhyn , knowing his own imperfections , will , I am sure , look on his wife ' s very leniently . At any rate , he does not look as if he is much to be feared , as he stands there with a happy smile on his thoughtful face . And so the curtain drops on our little history . If it has not satisfied the expectations of our readers , bear with an author ' s difficulties and excuse him ,
for it has often been written in great pain and weakness . Perhaps at some future period we may again embark together in Bro . Kenning ' s magazine , and spend a happy time together . And now , dear friends , farewell for many a day—If e ' er we meet again I cannot say ; Together have we travelled two long years
, And mingled sometimes smiles , and sometimes tears . Now droops my weary hand , and swells ' my heart , I fear , good friends , we must for ever part ; Forgive my many faults , and say of me—He hath meant well , who writ this history .
To Poverty.
TO POVERTY .
BY EGBERT 0 NEAL . PUT on thy rags 0 poverty ! shrink not From eyes that look on thee when passing by—The glare of nightly lamps discover naught But sunken cheek ancl strangely brighten'd eye .
Think ' st thou that hearts are mov'd at seeing thee ; That thy poor rags plead stronger than thy tongue ? That thou dost wake the God-like charity Whose virtues Poesy has sweetly sung ? No , no , deluded wretch !—thou ' rt but a sore That all see daily in the social state :
Thy wealthy brother thinks of thee no more Than of the hybrid dogs that pass his gate . He knows not what thy hourly struggles are , Which shake thy heart , aye , to its very core : Dark hell-born Evil waging bitter war 'Gainst hallow'd precepts—held its richest store .
Could he divine thy thoughts when full of woe Thou gazest on the water at thy feet ; Could he but guess how demons whisper low , And tempt thy flesh to close thy soul ' s retreat ; Could he but see thy look of wild despair . Thy wrestling long , thy present victory , He would feel Pity urge its holy pray ' r , And , doubting not thy worth , give aid to thee .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
A Mason's Story.
There is one figure , however , sitting at the back of the church , and that is Pewrhyn ' s would-be rival . As everybody else appears to ignore him , we will follow their example . And Mary . Has she no doubts or fears for the future ? She has many of them . Not for her husband , however , for she knows he is as true and honest a man as was ever created in the image of his Maker ; but for herself , lest she
should not prove worthy of such a one . Penrhyn , knowing his own imperfections , will , I am sure , look on his wife ' s very leniently . At any rate , he does not look as if he is much to be feared , as he stands there with a happy smile on his thoughtful face . And so the curtain drops on our little history . If it has not satisfied the expectations of our readers , bear with an author ' s difficulties and excuse him ,
for it has often been written in great pain and weakness . Perhaps at some future period we may again embark together in Bro . Kenning ' s magazine , and spend a happy time together . And now , dear friends , farewell for many a day—If e ' er we meet again I cannot say ; Together have we travelled two long years
, And mingled sometimes smiles , and sometimes tears . Now droops my weary hand , and swells ' my heart , I fear , good friends , we must for ever part ; Forgive my many faults , and say of me—He hath meant well , who writ this history .
To Poverty.
TO POVERTY .
BY EGBERT 0 NEAL . PUT on thy rags 0 poverty ! shrink not From eyes that look on thee when passing by—The glare of nightly lamps discover naught But sunken cheek ancl strangely brighten'd eye .
Think ' st thou that hearts are mov'd at seeing thee ; That thy poor rags plead stronger than thy tongue ? That thou dost wake the God-like charity Whose virtues Poesy has sweetly sung ? No , no , deluded wretch !—thou ' rt but a sore That all see daily in the social state :
Thy wealthy brother thinks of thee no more Than of the hybrid dogs that pass his gate . He knows not what thy hourly struggles are , Which shake thy heart , aye , to its very core : Dark hell-born Evil waging bitter war 'Gainst hallow'd precepts—held its richest store .
Could he divine thy thoughts when full of woe Thou gazest on the water at thy feet ; Could he but guess how demons whisper low , And tempt thy flesh to close thy soul ' s retreat ; Could he but see thy look of wild despair . Thy wrestling long , thy present victory , He would feel Pity urge its holy pray ' r , And , doubting not thy worth , give aid to thee .