THE ORPHAN'S VISION.
'Twas in a far-off land, where summer showersIts smiles of beaming light on all aroundThrough many months of each returning year;Where flowers of brilliant hues and lofty mienLift up their beauteous heads to catch the gleamsFrom tropic skies, and where the waving fernsGrow almost as luxuriant as didTheir sister tribes of paleozoic time. In one fair, peaceful vale, where all day longThe birds had warbled and the breezes played,A solemn silence seemed to reign o'er all.And well it might: the messenger of DeathWas waiting near, a human soul to bearFrom all the busy scenes of this fair earthTo far and untried spirit-realms beyond. Yes, in that hour a dying mother lookedAffection's last look on an only child,A maiden young and fair, although her faceThe trace of anguish and deep sorrow bore,And soon she, too, must know the lonely griefsOf orphanhood. Three weeks had scarcely passedSince in its narrow resting-place was laid
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