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My mother!—manhood’s anxious brow 
And sterner cares have long been mine; 
Yet turn I to thee fondly now, 
As when upon thy bosom’s shrine 
My infant griefs were gently hush’d to rest. 
And thy low-whisper d prayers my slumber bless’d. 
— Anon. 
Mother! dear mother! the feelings nurst. 
As I hung at thy bosom, clung ’round thee first. 
’Twas the earliest link in love’s long chain— 
9 Tis the only one that will long remain; 
And, as year by year, and day by day. 
Some friend well trusted drops away, 
Mother! dear mother! oh , dost thou see 
How'the shorten’d chain brings me nearer thee? 
—N. P. Willis . 
MUSIC.* 
There’s music in the sighing of a reed; 
There’s music in the gushing of a rill; 
There’s music in all things, if men had ears; 
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres. 
— Byron. 
Nature. 
Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, 
When our mother Mature laughs around? 
When even the blue deep heavens look glad. 
And gladness blooms from the blossoming ground? 
— Bryant. 
Man’s rich with little, were his judgment true; 
Mature is frugal, and her wants are few. 
— Young. 
*See, also, pages 40 and 41. 
