ELIZA COOK. TRY AGAIN. KING BRUCE of Scotland flung himself down "Tis true he was a monarch, and wore a crown, For he had been trying to do a great deed He had tried and tried, but couldn't succeed, He flung himself down in low despair, As grieved as man could be; And after a while as he pondered there, "I'll give it all up," said he. Now just at the moment a spider dropped, With its silken cobweb clue, And the king in the midst of his thinking stopped To see what the spider would do. 'Twas a long way up to the ceiling dome, And it hung by a rope so fine, That how it would get to its cobweb home, It soon began to cling and crawl Straight up with strong endeavour, Up, up it ran, not a second it stayed, Till it fell still lower, and there it laid, Its head grew steady-again it went, ELIZA COOK. "Twas a delicate thread it had to tread, And a road where its feet would tire. Again it fell and swung below, But again it quickly mounted, Till up and down, now fast, now slow, When it toils so hard to reach and cling, But up the insect went once more, Ah me, 'tis an anxious minute, He's only a foot from his cobweb door, Steadily, steadily, inch by inch, And a bold little run at the very last pinch, The spider up there defied despair, He conquer'd, and why shouldn't I?" And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind, That he tried once more as he tried before, Pay goodly heed, all you who read, Con over this strain, try bravely again, 137 MRS. SIGOURNEY. TO THE CORAL INSECT. TOIL on toil on! ye ephemeral train, Who build in the tossing and treacherous main; A fabric so vast in a realm so drear. But why do ye plant, 'neath the billows dark, Ye build-ye build-but ye enter not in; Ye slumber unmark'd 'mid the desolate main, MRS. SIGOURNEY. 139 MISSIONS. LIGHT for the dreary vales Of ice-bound Labrador! Where the frost-king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more; Lift high the lamp that never fails, To that dark and sterile shore. Light for the forest child! An outcast though he be, From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smil'd, And the country of the free; Pour the hope of Heaven o'er his desert wild, For what home on earth has he? Light for the hills of Greece! Light for that trampled clime Where the rage of the spoiler refus'd to cease If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace, Light on the Hindoo shed! On the maddening idol train; The flame of the suttee is dire and red, And the fakir faints with pain; And the dying moan on their cheerless bed, Light for the Persian sky! The Sophi's wisdom fades, 140 MRS. SIGOURNEY. And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy Armour when Death invades ; Hark! hark!-'tis the sainted Martyn's sigh Light for the Burman vales; For the islands of the sea! For the coast where the slave-ship fills its sails And her kidnapp'd babes the mother wails Light for the ancient race Exil'd from Zion's rest! Homeless they roam from place to place, They shudder at Sinai's fearful base; Light for the darken'd earth! Ye bless'd, its beams who shed, Shrink not, till the day-spring hath its birth, Till, wherever the footstep of man doth tread, Salvation's banner spread broadly forth, Shall gild the dream of the cradle-bed, And clear the tomb From its lingering gloom, For the aged to rest his weary head. |