The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1833-02-01 00:00:00

Voctrp.

MY MOTHER.

Whose image beams upon my mind.
And looks so placid. sweet, and kind ?
The earliest record there I find.

My Mother's.

Though much.has them been since erased,
By time and by experience traced—
No part of thee, has been effaced

My Mother.

There can be. no. mistaking thee—
And. as thou week thou art to me.
The " Morning starof memory."

My' Ketther

The earliest. light that on me beam'd.
From out thy love and goodness strewn' d
It warm'd me more than then I deem'd;
My Mother.

Oh woman 1 of . our weal and woe,
The fountain still from whence•thoy flow.—
My happinesa to thee, I owe.

My Motheff.

Thy,mild example did reprove
The pride, that in my nature strove—
Taught me to pity and to love

My Mother

The mild reproof—the fond caress--
The knee I dearly loved to press—
What—tears ? these do indeed confess,
My Mother.

But not from anguish do they rise
The waters that diffuse my eyes,
Reflect thy tender sympathies ;

My Mother.

Oh i may I still thy presence feel,
Thy memory o'er me gently steal.
And something in her son reveal.

My :Mother.

A METRICAL HOMILY ON JOHN tv. L 3, 14.

(From The Chameleon.)

" Jesus answered and said unto her, Wliosoever drinketh of this
water shall thirst again : but whosoever drinketh of the water that I
shall give him shall never thirst ; but the water that I shall give him
shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting

Minx, if you will, of Pleasure's sparkling stream,
From the rich goblets, to whose brimming, gleam
Eyes brighter yet than those in which they sea
The flash sent back of their own ecstacy.

Drink of the cup which many only sip,
Where love hath left the fragrance of its lip ;
Yea, quail it ; fiery as the young heart's glow,
Or pure and soft as yet descending snow !
Fill up the bowl ttat Friendship long hath quaff'd,
Pour joy and glaliness is the thrilling draught ;
With memory sweeten 't, and, before you drain,
One tear drop in 't, and ask—What meaneth pain?

From the home-cup the simple draught imbibe,
Atiectiou gives, unthinking of a bribe,—
Feel the parch'd tongue wax eloquent, the sign
That Gratitude the water turns to wine 1 ,

Pledge, with a goblet brimm'd in triumph's hour,
When Virtue celebrates its might o'er Power,
Words of deep fervour—links which make a span
Of leagues that sever man from brother man !

Drain, when the lips are burn'd with glowing thanks,
For honours won in Freedom's foremost ranks,
A draught that in its thrilling richness seems,
All that hath ever bless'd Ambition's dreams.

Or, from ideal goblets bid to flow
The stream of Song—to quench a world's wo ;
And, as it pours, in that Castalian dew,
Quaff oft' a rapture Shakspeare only knew !

Prom the rich cistern age on age hath filFd,
Drink deep of lore—in drops to some distill'd,—
Bathe in the very fountain-head of Fame,
And steep in Lethe thy defying name

Or,—more than all—when on thy tongue the flame
Of fever dwells, while chills the frozen frame,—
The hand of Love may on it moisture drop,
Whose every trickle brings thee Life and hope ;

—BeT Tuou WILT THIRST AGAIN !-Ay ! more and more,
Even as thou drinlest ; unquenched as before
Th' unsated appetite will soon return I
—Drink !—aud again with fire thy lips shall burn !

—But to the fountain of Redeeming Grace,
With pilgrim footsteps seek thy path to trace :
Not upon Sychar's plain—will it be found,
Nor where the Patriarch smote the rocky ground !

Turn to thy God with humble heart and knee,
—ln thine own breast 'twill spring in gushings free,—
if lie the waters of His mercy give,
Then wilt thou thirst no more,—Drink, and thy soul shall live