240 



KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



ORIGINAL POETRY. 

 CONTENTMENT BETTEE THAN GOLD. 



BY HELEN HETIIERINGTON . 



Sweet Contentment! thou'rt a treasure; 



Yes, — the richesf/gem on earth ! 

 Secret spring of Joy and Pleasure, 



Happy they who know thy worth ! 



Peace attends thy lovely dwelling; 



Sweet indeed its homely fare ! 

 Hope a tale of bliss is telling, 



Smiles insure a welcome there! 



Pleas'd with all that God has given, 

 Blessing Him for health and peace; 



Trusting Him for joy in Heaven, 

 Songs of praises never cease. 



"Whilst Ambition groans in anguish, 

 Pierc'd by sorrow and despair, 



And the slaves of Fortune languish, 

 Calm Contentment knows no care! 



Covetousness dreads the morrow, 

 Brooding o'er ill-gotten gain; 



Sown in misery and sorrow, 

 Reap'd in bitterness and pain. 



Pride and av'rice rush on madly, 

 Grasping gold with frantic joy; 



Base deception! oh! how sidly 

 Do they Peace and Hope destroy ! 



Gold they worship, love, and cherish, 

 Dearer far than life or health; 



Thousands of its victims perish, 

 In the base pursuit of wealth. 



Money for our " use " is lent us, 

 To sustain the " wants " of life ; 



Oh, how many blessings sent us 

 Have been made a source of strife! 



Troubles rise as wealth increases, 

 Care and sorrow ne'er depart ; 



Disagreement never ceases 

 Sad forebodings fill the heart. 



Pawning sycophants ! caressing, 

 With the hope to gain the store! 



How much better is the blessing 

 Of the helpless, needy poor ! 



Let the Miser hoard his treasure, 

 Heaping gold with every breath ; 



Sad delusion ! short liv'd pleasure ! 

 All must be resigned at death! 



Envy, Murm'ring, fierce Resentment, 



Let us banish from our home ; 

 Whilst the Blessing of Contentment 

 Shall be ours where'er we roam. 



CONTENTMENT. 



SELECT POETRY. 



WOMEN AND FLOWESS. 



Contentment produces, in some measure, all 

 those effects which the alchemist usually ascribes 

 to what he calls the philosophers stone; and if 

 it does not bring riches, it does the same by 

 banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove 

 the disquietudes arising from a man's mind, 

 body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. 



Let every lady cherish flowers: 



True fairy friends are they, 

 On whom, of all your cloudless hours, 



Not one is thrown away. 

 By them, unlike man's ruder race, 



No care conferr'd is spurn'd; 

 But all a woman's fostering grace, 



A thousand-fold return'd. 



The rose repays thee all thy smiles — 



The stainless lily rears 

 Dew on the chalice of its wiles 



As sparkling as thy tears, 

 The glances of thy gladden'd eyes 



Not thanklessly are pour'd ; 

 In the blue violet's tender dyes 



Behold them all — restor'd! 



Yon bright carnation, — once thy cheek, 



Bent o'er it in the bud, 

 And back it gives thy blushes meek, 



In one rejoicing flood! 

 That balm has treasur'd all thy sighs, 



That snow-drop touch'd thy brow, — 

 Thus not a charm of thine shall die, 



Thy painted people vow. 



THE CHILD WE LIVE FOE. 



It would be unwise in us to call that man 

 wretched, who, whatever else he suffers as to 

 pain inflicted, or pleasure denied, has a child for 

 whom he hopes, and on whom he doats. Poverty 

 may grind him to the dust; obscurity may cast 

 its darkest mantle over him; the song of the gay 

 may be far from his own dwelling; his face may 

 be unknown to his neighbors, and his voice may 

 be unheeded by those among whom he dwells — 

 even pain may rack his joints, and sleep may 

 flee from his pillow. Yet has he a gem with 

 which he would not part for wealth defying com- 

 putation — for fame filling a world's car, for the 

 luxury of the highest wealth, or for the sweetest 

 sleep that ever sat upon a mortal's eye. — 

 Coleridge. 



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