Friends cannot come to me,

Those who have often bathed my fevered brow;
But one loved form is near;

To me a ministering angel now.

A sad, sad welcome home!

But bear thou up; I still am by thy side;
Though sadly changed-if spared,

Thou❜lt cling to me, and in my

love abide.

Oh! if one murmuring tone

Has welled

up from my heart at this sad fate, Grant-grant forgiveness now;

I bow submissively, and patient wait!

It has been dark and drear!

Yet many blessings have been ours the while;
The calls of sympathy,

My kind physician's care and hopeful smile.

Sweet flowers were culled each day,

And ripe fruit gathered; tempting food prepared ; The voice of song; new books;

Ah! friends, ye truly have our sorrows shared.

And

Then take my warmest thanks,

may Heaven's blessing on your heads descend. Life woos me back; once more

I clasp the hand of brother, sister, friend!

TO C- C

I bless thee, for the magic tones
Which bore my soul away,
Far from the weary couch of pain,
Where I in suffering lay;
From the sultry, darkened chamber,
To the glorious sky of blue;
Oh! for a brief, bright moment,
I lived this life through you.

Then deem it not an idle thing
To sing for one, whose soul

Has trembled on the grave's dark briak,
Near the eternal goal:

For blessed angels then are near,

To aid you while you sing:

God sends them on their mission, still,

With soft and noiseless wing.

The spirit of thy songs, I bore

To the golden chain above: Link after link was forged by one, They called the angel, Love. The immortal soul-oh! it can burst The bonds of space and time; Dropping earth's care-worn mantle, soar

To countless worlds, sublime.

A priceless gift is thine, my friend;
Profane it not, but keep

The jewel God hath given thee,
For eyes that "wake to weep ;"

And, in humility bestow;

So shall thy power increase :

Then thine own soul shall echo forth
The blessed song of peace.

LINES

In answer to "I'd have thee think of me," by Mrs C. W. H.

Thy prayer is granted, my beloved,

For we do think of thee,

As one whose heart of hearts is far
From life's vain revelry!

A "Spirit" pure, whose vail of light
Enables us to trace

The guileless workings of the heart,
Through thy transparent face!

We think of thee as of a "star"
To linger on life's way—
Nightly to beckon from afar,

And usher in the day!

Our evening and our morning star,
Oh, doubly blest art thou!

To gild the darkened hours with hope,
And gem the morning's brow.

We think of thee as of a "flower"

With perfume rich and rare

A hidden mystery within

The outward form so fair;

Whose soft-veined leaves, though crushed to earth,

Send up an incense pure—

Filling love's chalices with thoughts

Forever to endure.

We think of thee as of that "bird,"
Whose music, sweet and wild,
Is poured forth in the "solemn night,"
To ears all undefiled.

Sing on my nightingale, sing on!

Nor deem thy warblings vain; They fall upon the thirsty soul As falls the summer rain !

We think of thee "apart, alone,"
At twilight's holy hour,

As some pure seraph gazing o'er

God's wondrous works and power.

Encircled in those golden clouds,
To melt, like them, away;
Yet promising a new return,
A sunset's passing stay!

We think of thee as of a "dream"-
A shadowy dream, yet bright—
Haunting with beauty's witching spells,
The darkness and the light;

Causing our hearts to bless His name,
Who gave us one to share

Our "daily paths"-with power to make
Our lives seem still more fair."

Thus do we think of thee, beloved;
With "earth's bright things" we blend
Thine image in our heart of hearts,
And to their glory lend!
We ask no other love wherewith

To bind our souls to thine.
Sweet sister Spirit soar thou on—
Thy mission is divine!

TO ONE WHO SAID,

"I am a withered and seared leaf."

Oh! believe not that age has dried up the fountain,

That erst poured such plentiful draughts on the crowd; Though silent, rich streams still flow down from the mountain, Where dwelleth the blest unobscured by a cloud.

Oh! deem not, though often thy pinions are weary,
And the hum of the multitude paineth thine ear;

Though things that once gladdened, now, ofttimes, are dreary,
That unto tried hearts thou canst aye be less dear.

For myself, a calm joy, though voiceless, I cherish,
While gazing upon thee, and clasping thy hand :
Thou hast garnered bright visions that never can perish,
I hail thee as one of that blest Spirit-band.