The day be all thy own,
And hallow'd may it be,
While Saints together sit,
In sweetest harmony.

May sinners hear thy voice, And come without delay; Forsake their sins and live, On this most holy day.

Oh! may this be to us
A real antepast,

If we are Saints indeed,
We shall be blest at last,

With an eternal rest,
A Sabbath without end,
And with th' blessed JESUS,
The happy day we'll spend.

TO A LADY;

ON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND.

COULD friendship, love, or sympathy impart One ray of comfort to thy widow'd heart, How would I pray, how fast my tears should flow,

How bless'd should Mary be, and free from woe,

And bless'd you may be: why should we repine?

Is not the great Bereaver still divine?
Yes: GoD is just, and all his ways are love,
You'll meet your Henry in the realms above.

Religion seek, dear Mary, for your aid,
And Prudence, too, for she's a heav'nly maid;
Seek Reason, also, for she's grave and sage,
And lenient time will soon your grief assuage.

C3

ON THE DEATH OF MISS HARRIET HILLS,

OF BOSTON.

Addressed to her Mother.

As o'er a lonely heath a florist past,
Fast beat the storm, and chilling was the blast;
Yet oft the Solar beam propitious shone,
And flowers were rear'd by nature's hand
alone.

One beauteous rose, much fairer than the rest, He espied, much admir'd, and thus address'd: "Sweet queen of flowers," said he, "thy fragrance rare

"Must not be lost on this wild desert air; "Thy tender fragile form can ill sustain "Those piercing winds and pelting showers of rain;

Let me transplant you to my green-house, where

"My hand shall nurse you with a father's care,"

Thus spake the florist; and the root remov❜d, And home convey'd the flower so much belov'd.

Plac'd in a garden scented with perfume, Behold this rose in native beauty bloom; Arrang'd on ev'ry side with nicest care, Stand myrtles, daisies and geraniums fair : How chang'd the scene! by zephyrs mildly fann'd,

And morn and ev'ning comes the fost'ring

hand

Of the kind owner; who, with joyful heart, Exclaims, "my sweetest rose, we ne'er will part."

Accept the simile, dear Madam, tho'

Your heart is wrung with recent pange of woe. You've lost a daughter, whom you dearly lov'd,

But he who made her has your child remov'd To that blest world, where all is love and peace,

And blissful joys immortal never cease. Her lover mourns beside her silent tomb, The bridal bed exchang'd for fun'ral gloom. "The lovely Harriet is gone!" he cries, "Joy of my heart, and pleasure of my eyes! "The heav'nly maid I fondly thought my

own,

"How great my loss, forever shall I moan." But she's not lost, she's only gone before; They soon will meet upon the heavenly shore. The ways of Heaven mysterious seem to man, And Deity weak mortals cannot scan:

But this we know; He's ever good and just; Then bow submissive, and His mercy trust, And cease to murmur, silence ev'ry sigh, She's now an angel with her Gon on high.

ON LEAVING MY NATIVE PLACE,

AH! must I leave the shady groves, and bowers,

1

Where I was born and pass'd my happiest hours;

And must I leave them with severest pain,
And see a stranger own this lov'd domain?
My more than father, must I leave thee, too,
And thro' the world a helpless pilgrim go?
In ev'ry breeze I seem thy voice to hear,
And never shall forget the parting tear.
Adieu, adieu, my heart within me dies,
And now I seek a passage to the skies.
I've seen the frailty of all things below,
This transitory world is but a show;
Where hope deceives and pleasure cheats our

eyes,

And as we follow, still the phantom flies :
Where often winds disturb the peaceful lake,
And snakes lie hid beneath the flow'ry brake,
One thing alone can fill the craving mind,
With joy substantial, holy and refin'd.
'Tis pure religion, handmaid from on high,
Can bless us here, and raise us to the sky.
Oh! grant me that, kind Heaven, for which
I pine,

And then the world contented I'll resign.