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When with sad footsteps memory roves
Mid smitten joys, and buried loves,---
When sleep my tearful pillow flies,
And dewy morning drinks my sighs,---
Still to thy promise, Lord, I flee,
That

as my day, my strength shall be.”

66

One trial more must yet be past;
One pang---the keenest and the last :
And when, with brow convulsed and pale,
My feeble, grieving heart-strings fail,
Oh Father! grant my soul to see
That as her day, her strength shall be.”

THE END.

C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,

CHANCERY LANE.

ERRATUM. Page 1, line 12, for counties, read countries.

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