It was a sight to see and bless,
That little sister's tenderness;
One hand a tidy basket bore
Of flowers and fruit a chosen store,
Such as kind friends oft send to others
And one was fastened in her brother's.
It was a voice of meaning sweet,
And spake amid that scene of strife
Of home and homely duties meet,
And charities of daily life;
And often, should my spirit fail,
And under cold strange glances quail,
'Mid busy shops and busier throng,
That speed upon their ways along
The thick and crowded thoroughfare,
I'll call to mind that little pair.
1836
THE THREAD OF TRUTH.
Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there
In small bright specks upon the visible side
Of our strange being's party-coloured web.
How rich the converse! 'Tis a vein of ore
Emerging now and then on Earth's rude breast,
But flowing full below. Like islands set
At distant intervals on Ocean's face,
We see it on our course; but in the depths
The mystic colonnade unbroken keeps
Its faithful way, invisible but sure.
Oh, if it be so, wherefore do we men
Pass by so many marks, so little heeding?
1839
