If, when deceiv'd and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!
The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,

Must weep those tears alone.
But thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too,

Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy Wing of Love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our Peace-branch from above?
Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day!

WEEP NOT FOR THOSE. (AIR. AVISON.)

WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profan'd what was born for the
skies.

Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it;

'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd it,

To water that Eden where first was its source. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,

In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profan'd what was born for the skies.

Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, 2 Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now,

our ears when we heard of her death. During her last delirium she sung several hymns, in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from the present collection, (particularly, "There's nothing bright but Heaven,") which this very interesting girl had often heard me sing during the summer.