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418 ANNE M. F. ANNAN.

Thou, on whose heart, wild waves of sorrow beating,
Would seem to whelm with darkness all thy life,
Think, when with joy, thou seest them back retreating,
It was thy Saviour's prayer that hush'd their strife.

Thou too, upon whose pathway ever blending
Are light and beauty, blessing thee alway;
Think, on His heart He bore thee when ascending
That lonely mountain, where He knelt to pray.

Oh! think of Him, the while thy vigils number
Scarce one brief hour, passing so soon away;
And rouse thy spirit from its dreamy slumber,
Like him, unceasingly to "watch and pray."

ANNE M. F. ANNAN.

Mrs. ANNAN was born in Pennsylvania. Her father, Mr. Buchanan, was engaged several years in the iron manufacture in a secluded district of Dauphin County; and in the beautiful river and mountain scenery of this region her childhool and youth were passed. In 1840, she was married to Dr. Samuel Annan, of baltimore; where she resided until 1846, when Dr. Annan was elected to a professorship in Tramsylvania University; since which even their home has been in Lexington, Kentucky. Before her marriage, Mrs. Annan published a great many fugitive poems which possessed considerable merit; showing a lively fancy, and an ear for rythm. She seldom writes poetry now, but uses her talent for composition in furnishing stories for the magazines, with equal ingenuity and rapidity.

ANNE M. F. ANNAN. 419

THE DAUGHTER OF THE BLIND.

My father dear! 'tis sweet to me
These calm, soft evening hours,
Thus, with your hand in mine, to be
Among my gentle flowers.
I've planted such as you can love,—
Not things of flaunting bloom,
But such as seem to have a soul
That speaks through their perfume;—
The thyme that sheds its fragrance o'er
The foot by which 'tis trod,—
An emblem of God's loved, the meek,
Whi kiss the smiting rod;
And jasmines sweet, which sweeter breathe
The lower sinks the sun,
Like the true heart which fonder grows
As sorrow's night comes on!

Though, with their glorious poesy, 
The stars to you are dim,
Does not each wind that wafts about
Speak to you in a hymn?
The very breeze to which I give
This breath, may but to-day,
Have linger'd in memorial fanes
Of ages paww'd away;
From the lone mart of vanish'd men
The desert's sands have roll'd,
And stirr'd the ivy where they lay
Of chivalry was toll'd;—
Oh! while a thousand themes they bring
Of temple, tower and tomb,
One fill'd like thou with lofty love
Sure cannot live in gloom!

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 21:13:46