He journeyed on for many years, Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears, But found a pard'ning G.o.d.

His l.u.s.trous eyes are dim in death, His voice pa.s.sed like the zephyr's breath, That heart has lost its lone; But while we weep around his dust, That soul its prison doors hath burst, And worships 'round the throne.

But shall we murmur and complain?

Shall our warm tears descend like rain Around his early grave?

While kindred dear must weep and mourn, More sacred tears bedew his urn Than ever friendship gave.

That brother, who with him has played Beside the brook, or in the shade Where feathered warblers sang, And sported by the river side, Or o'er the ice taught him to glide, While merry laughter rang--

His love increased with growing years, One were their hopes, their joys, their fears, Their Savior, too, was one.

That brother's grief must be severe, Yet from his lips we hope to hear, "My Father's will be done."

Like ivy, round some youthful pine, Did Julia's warm affections twine Round his fraternal heart; Through adverse scenes they struggled long, Which rendered nature's ties more strong, But they, alas! must part.

Should fell disease a.s.sail her now, Place his pale signet on her brow, And chill her heart with fear; No more he'd stand beside her bed,-- Bathe her parched lips, and aching head, And strive her mind to cheer.

She'll range the paths where they have strayed, And wander through the silent shade, And ask, "is brother here?"

She'll view the grave, and that will say There's naught within but mould'ring clay, No more will he appear.

That sister, who hath sought a friend To share her grief till time shall end, Must still in tears be drowned; Although a partner soothes her grief, And kindly strives to give relief, And children cl.u.s.ter round;--

She sees their glossy ringlets flow, In cl.u.s.ters o'er each little brow; They speak of days gone by, When she with brother often strayed, O'er hill and dale and flow'ry glade, Where golden sunbeams lie.

A fair young friend, whose aching heart Now feels affliction's keenest dart, Must long in sadness weep; Her brightest hopes are fled away, Alas! her sweetest joys decay, They in the grave must sleep.

Her heart still bleeds at every pore, That much loved form she'll see no more, Till Gabriel's trump shall sound; We trust they'll then in raptures rise, To that blight world above the skies, Where tears no more are found.

His aged parents feel the blow; Long since they gazed upon his brow, And blessed their infant boy; Trembling with age, we hear them say, "This dear support is torn away, What now can yield us joy?

"Long years we watched our lovely plant, With care supplied its every want, And hoped it long might bloom; But fierce disease has laid it low, Reckless of tears that 'round it flow.

And laid it in the tomb.

"Long, long we nursed his fading form, And strove to shun the gath'ring storm, Which threaten'd in the sky; Yet from our bleeding bosoms torn, Our darling son leaves us to mourn; Who can his place supply?"

But could their vision now extend To those bright realms where dwells their friend, Their tears would cease to flow; They'd long to leave this dusky sphere, And from their lips we soon should hear, "Dear Savior, let me go."

No more they'd wish the seraph here, To wander in this vale so drear, And lay his glory by; To suffer years of grief and pain, And cross cold Jordan's stream again, To reach the joys on high.

THE SISTER'S LAMENT

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF E. TORRY, OF PORTLAND

Oh, Edward, dear Edward! how precious that sound, I seek for an equal--it cannot be found; In tones soft and pensive it visits my ear,-- I fain would believe thou art hovering near.

Since thy happy spirit to heaven has fled, Art thou with me by day, by night round my bed?

I visit thy grave and bedew it with tears, To share in my sorrow, no Edward appears.

On earth 't was thy pleasure to soothe all my grief, To wipe off my tears and to bring me relief; Thy heart's warm affections were lavished on me, I've spent happy moments conversing with thee.

My counselor, playmate, my guide, and my friend, On whom I might always in safety depend, In paths of fair virtue my feet thou hast led, Where vice, that foul monster, dares not show his head.

Nor was all thy kindness bestowed upon one; Thou wast an affectionate, dutiful son; Thy dear honored parents drank deep of thy love, None ever shared more but thy Father above.

Thy father now sinks 'neath a burden of woe, His once brilliant eyes now with tears overflow; Thy mother sits weeping, thy fond brothers sigh, The dear little children cease playing and cry.

Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom, Deep sorrow sits brooding all round our sweet home; The soft venial zephyrs come sighing along, The streamlets are murm'ring a sad, mournful song.

The gray twilight shades come attended with gloom, While like a dark pall they encircle thy tomb; When soft showers descend, something whispers to me, That tears from the clouds are descending for thee.

No star spangled heavens nor cool shady bowers, No deep ancient forest or fair fragrant flowers Can fill up the void that I feel in my breast, Although thou art tuning thy harp with the blest.

In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep, It cheers up my spirits and I cease to weep; Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall dwell, I'll keep it there always, I love it so well.

LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR.

I'll weave a bracelet of this hair,-- Although these locks so hallowed are, It seems like sacrilege to wear Such relics of the dead.

I've seen them cl.u.s.t'ring 'round a brow Which drooped beneath affliction's blow, And slumbers in the church-yard now, With all its beauty flown.

The hand that dressed these locks with care, And 'ranged them 'round that brow so fair, And oft clasped mine with friendly air, Is turning back to dust.

And closed those eyes, whose radiant beams Surpa.s.s'd imagination's dreams, Yet whisp'ring still, were but faint gleams Emerging from the soul.

Farewell, dear friend, these locks I'll keep, Till in the grave with thee I sleep; There, like thee, may I cease to weep, And, with thee, wake to sing.

LINES

SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE LAST HOURS OF MRS.

SARAH JUDSON, SECOND WIFE OF THE LATE LAMENTED DR. JUDSON, OF BURMAN.

"I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of the Lord be done."--_Judson's Offering_, 231_st page_. These were the words of Mrs.

Judson a few days previous to her death, when questioned as to her desires respecting the issue of the affliction under which she was suffering.

Life's trials and dangers will all soon be o'er, I feel myself nearing the heavenly sh.o.r.e, I'm weary of wand'ring, oh! fain would I rest With Jesus, my Savior, and sleep on his breast.

I'm weary and thirsty, my spirit has flown Almost to that river which bursts from the throne;-- I'd range its fair borders, and plunge in its flood, And join with the angels in praising my G.o.d.

I'd rest in the shade of that tree, growing near, Which yields its rich fruit every month in the year; Its leaves are so healing, no sickness comes there, To mar the new song as it floats through the air.

I think of the rest in those regions above,-- My soul spreads her pinions and soars like a dove,-- Yet I'm drawn back to earth by one tender tie, Which oft clogs my wings;--then, oh! how can I fly!