262 JAMES W. WARD. [1830-40. THE SUNBEAM. Sitting, musing, one bright day, In a quiet, dreamy sort of way — A way I'm often in — Amused 'neath Fancy's strange control, To watch the phantoms of the soul Their comedies begin ; To see, down deep into my heart, The fairy figures flit and start, Upon the long, dim stage, Acting their parts so cleverly, With magic art and revelry, My favor to engage. And often thus my houi's are passed, Regardless that I thence am classed, By those who only see The idle hands the brain that press, With such as waste in idleness, The moments as they flee. A little child with life abounding, My fairy pantomime confounding, Was rushing like a storm ; It wound the clock of hfe anew, And set it back a year or two, To see the rogue perform. The sunbeam streamed across liis way, Straight as the path to endless day ; A cord of golden light Stretched from the window to the floor, With twinkling motes bespangled o'er, Like a comet's train at night. The boy was driving, might and main. His charger in and out again. When suddenly he stopped ; The golden cord his dark eye won ; A new emotion was begun. And down the broomstick dropped. His little hand was then applied, And many a time the feat was tried. To grasp the sparkling train ; His dumpy fist would ope and close, Translucent as the ruby rose ; But each attempt was vain. Long time, with persevering zeal, He strove, resolved the thing to feel ; And then he seized his broom, And gave it up and gaily cried, " I'll see what's on the other side," And galloped from the room. And then I thought, how many such. The semblance lor the substance clutch. Like moths, deceived by glare ! Children of riper age, whose life Is wasted in the fruitless strife For shadows thin as air ! Won by the glitter and the show. How many life's true aim forego. Misled by Mammon's lust ; To gather gold their powers exhaust. And find their wealth, when life is lost. Illuminated dust! Ah, happy, who, more wisely led, Can see the vail of trial spread. Like a shadow deep and wide. Before his soul ; and pure and bright. The eternal source of truth and hght, Find on the other side. EPIGRAM. 'Tis said that man o'er woman justly ranks ; This to disprove will merit woman's thanks. Woman's an angel, all mankind declares — To this the witness resolutely sweai's ; Woman's an angel — let the precept stand. Mark how its truth his pride will repri- mand ; For man — the text, not me, he must up- braid — Was little lower than the angels made.
