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CRUCE AND CORONA.
These words are said in deep and rev'rent tones,While on Crucè with rev'rence he doth gaze.
The stranger seems as one who hears him not.When first the father spoke the name "Crucè,"And she, advancing, 'neath the lamplight stood,The missionary's gaze was rivetedOn her as though a vision of the deadRe-entered into life before him stood.He gazes still, unconscious of all else;And o'er his soul the tides of mem'ry surge;Across these surges glide the specters dimOf griefs long buried in the tomb of years.And now, while intervening years are lost,The past becomes the present. Smiles of joyAre on his lips, and peace upon his brow.The mem'ry now of intervening yearsBetween the past and present rushes back;Of joy bereft, he says, "It cannot be!"
To consciousness returning, now his thoughtsRevert unto the words the father spoke:"Long years ago"—"a vessel"—"bringing her"—"From rocks o'er reef all strewn with ocean wrecks."And then he says, "O friend! long, long ago,When first I bade my native land farewell,
