With fresher life be clothed upon;
And to the world in beauty show
Like the rose-plant of Jericho,

And glorious as Lebanon !

DANIEL NEALL.

I.

FRIEND of the Slave, and yet the friend of all;
Lover of peace, yet ever foremost, when
The need of battling Freedom called for men
To plant the banner on the outer wall;
Gentle and kindly, ever at distress
Melted to more than woman's tenderness,
Yet firm and steadfast, at his duty's post
Fronting the violence of a maddened host,

Like some grey rock from which the waves are tossed!
Knowing his deeds of love, men questioned not

The faith of one whose walk and word were rightWho tranquilly in Life's great task-field wrought, And, side by side with evil, scarcely caught A stain upon his pilgrim garb of white : Prompt to redress another's wrong, his own Leaving to Time and Truth and Penitence alone.

II.

Such was our friend.

Formed on the good old plan,
A true and brave and downright honest man!
He blew no trumpet in the market-place,
Nor in the church with hypocritic face

Supplied with cant the lack of Christian grace;
Loathing pretence, he did with cheerful will

What others talked of while their hands were still :

And, while "Lord, Lord!" the pious tyrants cried,
Who, in the poor, their Master crucified,

His daily prayer, far better understood

In acts than words, was simply DOING GOOD.

So calm, so constant was his rectitude,

That, by his loss alone we know its worth,

And feel how true a man has walked with us on earth.

Sixth month 6th, 1846.

TO MY FRIEND ON THE DEATH OF HIS SISTER.*

THINE is a grief, the depth of which another
May never know;

Yet, o'er the waters, O, my stricken brother!
To thee I go.

I lean my heart unto thee, sadly folding
Thy hand in mine;

With even the weakness of my soul upholding
The strength of thine.

I never knew, like thee, the dear departed;
I stood not by

When, in calm trust, the pure and tranquil-hearted
Lay down to die.

And on thy ears my words of weak condoling
Must vainly fall:

The funeral bell which in thy heart is tolling,

Sounds over all!

* SOPHIA STURGE, sister of JOSEPH STURGE, of Birmingham, the President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the 6th mo. 1845. She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. The Birmingham Pilot says of her: "Never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beautifully blended, than in this excellent woman."

I will not mock thee with the poor world's common
And heartless phrase,

Nor wrong the memory of a sainted woman
With idle praise.

With silence only as their benediction,
God's angels come

Where, in the shadow of a great affliction,
The soul sits dumb!

Yet, would I say what thy own heart approveth :
Our Father's will,

Calling to Him the dear one whom He loveth,
Is mercy still.

Not upon thee or thine the solemn angel
Hath evil wrought:

Her funeral anthem is a glad evangel -
The good die not!

God calls our loved ones, but we lose not wholly
What He hath given;

They live on earth, in thought and deed, as truly As in His heaven.

And she is with thee; in thy path of trial
She walketh yet;

Still with the baptism of thy self-denial
Her locks are wet.

Up, then, my brother! Lo, the fields of harvest
Lie white in view!

She lives and loves thee, and the God thou servest
To both is true.

Thrust in thy sickle!-England's toil-worn peasants Thy call abide ;

And she thou mourn'st, a pure and holy presence, Shall glean beside !

GONE.

ANOTHER hand is beckoning us,
Another call is given;

And glows once more with Angel-steps
The path which reaches Heaven.

Our young and gentle friend whose smile
Made brighter summer hours,

Amid the frosts of autumn time
Has left us, with the flowers.

No paling of the cheek of bloom
Forewarned us of decay;

No shadow from the Silent Land
Fell around our sister's way.

The light of her young life went down,
As sinks behind the hill

The glory of a setting star-
Clear, suddenly, and still.

As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed
Eternal as the sky;

And like the brook's low song, her voice

A sound which could not die.

And half we deemed she needed not
The changing of her sphere,
To give to Heaven a Shining One,
Who walked an Angel here.

The blessing of her quiet life

Fell on us like the dew

;

-

And good thoughts, where her footsteps pressed

Like fairy blossoms grew.

Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds
Were in her very look;

We read her face, as one who reads
A true and holy book:

The measure of a blessed hymn,

To which our hearts could move; The breathing of an inward psalm; A canticle of love.

We miss her in the place of prayer,
And by the hearth-fire's light;
We pause beside her door to hear

Once more her sweet "Good night!

There seems a shadow on the day,
Her smile no longer cheers;
A dimness on the stars of night,
Like eyes that look through tears.

Alone unto our Father's will

One thought hath reconciled; That He whose love exceedeth ours Hath taken home His child.

Fold her, oh Father! in thine arms,

And let her henceforth be

A messenger of love between

Our human hearts and Thee.

Still let her mild rebuking stand
Between us and the wrong,

And her dear memory serve to make
Our faith in Goodness strong.

"

And, grant that she who, trembling, here Distrusted all her powers,

May welcome to her holier home

The well beloved of ours.