[Illustration]

How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But, alas! recollection, at hand,
Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest.
The beast is laid down in his lair,
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There is mercy in every place;
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.

[Illustration]






DON'T KILL THE BIRDS.

[Illustration: D]