Oh! let not that thought weigh thy feeble frame down ;

But believe, though unseen by thine eye, Her spirit had risen above Earth's dark frown, And still watches thee now, from on high.

Rejoice! oh, rejoice that the child of thy love
Has thus early arrived at her home!

And the sweet breath of peace, like wings of a dove,
Shall cool thy parched brow, though alone.

Rejoice! still rejoice! for though shrouded in gloom,
The dark future before thee shall rise,

The sun shall burst forth from the thick clouds of noon;
For it shineth, though veiled in the skies.

то

When sorrow's dark mantle was over thee thrown,
And Hope's fairy pinions were drooping the while;
When grief had bedimmed the bright light of thy home,
Oh! then came the friend, with the soul-beaming smile!

Alone thou hadst wandered; for no one was near,

To echo the tones of thine own bursting heart. The friends of thy youth could not dry thy sad tears, For, one after one, thou hadst seen them depart!

And fashion and wealth had no power to bind
The mind that was yearning for sympathy still;
Away, far away, on the wings of the wind,
It soared, ever hoping that love would it fill!

Go, dear one! should sorrow still compass thee round, Thy joys and thy trials alike may he share;

But, oh! may'st thou often with bowed head be found, Communing with Him who alone answers prayer!

TO MRS.

Holy hath been our converse, gentle friend!
Full of high thoughts breathing of heavenward hope,
Deepened by tenderest memories of the dead;
Therefore, beyond the grave, I surely deem
That we shall meet again."

And must we part, my gentle friend,
Just as I've learned to prize

The truthful, candid, loving soul

Which beams forth from thine eyes?

Must silence reign where thou hast dwelt?—
No answering tone be given?

Ah! thus it ever is below;

But, oh! not so in Heaven!

Mary-that sweet and simple name
Was given thee at thy birth;
And well it suits thy placid brow-
Thine unobtrusive worth.

""Twas hers, who, at the sepulchre

Bowed down her head in tears;

And that sweet name was breathed by Him,
Whose voice dispelled her fears!

And hers-the tempted, sorrowing, tried,
Whose rain of tears bedewed

The Master's feet; still, his kind words
Her failing strength renewed.
And hers, again, who lowly sat,
With patient, childlike trust;
Absorbed in faith-the faith whose power
Could raise her soul from dust.

And it was hers, who, clinging, still
Followed, with streaming eyes,
And stood beside that bloody cross
Whereon her Saviour dies!

May'st thou, like her, my new found friend,
Be ever true in heart:

Still patient, silent, struggle on,
And choose that “better part!”

TO THE HUTCHINSON FAMILY.

Farewell! noble "band of brothers!"
It were wrong to bid ye stay,
While the sorrowing hearts of many
Have not felt your magic sway.
Onward, then, and gladden thousands
With
your heart felt, gospel life!
Be not daunted-though derision
Curls the lip; and threatens strife.

For, beside the white winged angel
Whispering hope's own words of trust;
And her dove-eyed sister twining
Olive leaves, to crown the just;
Still, oh! still there is another
Hovering aye, your heads above:
All—all else were naught without it;
'Tis that heaven born angel-love!

We shall often hear your voices
forms are far away,

When your
In the silent midnight watches,
In the noon-tide glare of day.
For our spirits are unfettered,

Though clay temples 'shrine them still; Hand in hand, o'er earth's wide garden, With the loved we roam at will.

Ye did come like birds in spring-time,
Causing our poor hearts to gush;
Where the snow-frost crusted over,
Now the bubbling waters rush!
Holy-holy, is your mission,

And we own its magic might:
Toil on, for the good time's coming,

When the wrong shall yield to right!

Mourn not-mourn not that dear father,
For with calm and holy mien,
As of yore, he'll guide and guard you,
"Till this "earth is all serene."

Farewell! noble band of brothers!

We could never say, 66

depart ;"

Ye are gone; but not forgotten,—
Spirit homes are in the heart!

LINES WRITTEN IN ILLNESS.

Put up, at the moment of greatest suffering, a prayer, not for thine own escape, but for the enfranchisement of some being dear to thee, and the Sovereign Spirit will accept thy ransom.

Contagion, pass thou forth!

MARGARET FULLER.

But may good angels bear thee far away,
On gentle breezes, where

Thou canst not harm one suffering child of clay.

Father, oh! give me strength,

The rod to bear, to brave this bitter strife!
Grant but one blessed boon,

And spare those dearer to me far than life.

And not alone the loved!

Shield all, my Father, in this trying hour.
Let not the toil-worn's home

Be darkened by disease' resistless power.

Oh! 'tis a fearful thing,

To be thus stricken-be thus set apart,

Crying Unclean, unclean,"

With love's sweet flower still blooming in the heart.