LINES, ON THE DEATH OF S. OLIVER TORREY, SECRETARY OF THE BOSTON YOUNG MEN'S ANTI-SLAVERY SOCIETY. GONE before us, O our brother, To the spirit-land! Vainly look we for another In thy place to stand. Of a stern and lofty duty, With a faith like thine ? Oh thy gentle smile of greeting Who amidst the solemn meeting Who, when peril gathers o'er us, Who, with evil men before us, So serene as thou? Early hath the spoiler found thee, Brother of our love! Autumn's faded earth around thee, And, with future showers, In the locks thy forehead gracing, Nor a line of sorrow's tracing Which shall rise no more! Will the vigil Love is keeping Will the pleasant memories, swelling If the spirit ever gazes, From its journeyings, back; If the immortal ever traces O'er its mortal track; Wilt thou not, O brother, meet us Sometimes on our way, And, in hours of sadness, greet us As a spirit may? Peace be with thee, O our brother, In the spirit-land! Vainly look we for another In thy place to stand. Unto Truth and Freedom giving All thy early powers, Be thy virtues with the living, And thy spirit ours! *"O vine of Sibmah! I will weep for thee with the weeping of Jazer!" Jeremiah xlviii. 32. A LAMENT. "The parted spirit, Knoweth it not our sorrow? Answereth not THE circle is broken-one seat is forsaken, One bud from the tree of our friendship is shaken Weep! lonely and lowly, are slumbering now For humanity's claim Give our tears to the dead! For, oh! if one glance the freed spirit can throw Oh, who can forget the mild light of her smile, And the charm of her features, while over the whole And the tones of her voice, like the music which seems Murmured low in our ears by the Angel of dreams! But holier and dearer our memories hold Those treasures of feeling, more precious than gold- The heart ever open to Charity's claim, Unmoved from its purpose by censure and blame, Fell the scorn of the heartless, the jesting and jeer. How true to our hearts was that beautiful sleeper! For, though spotless herself, she could sorrow for them As a cloud of the sunset, slow melting in heaven, DANIEL WHEELER. [DANIEL WHEELER, a minister of the Society of Friends, and who had labored in the cause of his Divine Master in Great Britain, Russia, and the islands of the Pacific, died in New York, in the spring of 1840, while on a religious visit to this country.] Он, dearly loved! And worthy of our love! No more Or, bowing down thy silver hair In reverent awfulness of prayer The world, its time and sense, shut out As if each lingering cloud of doubt The oak has fallen! While, meet for no good work, the vine |