Oh! let soft pity touch your heart!
'Tis God who deals the heavy blow,
Beneath his chastening hand I smart,
His power hath laid my grandeur low!

Oh! could you read my inmost soul!
My faith is firm, my hope is strong;
I know that my Redeemer lives,
And mercy doth to him belong!

Though the dark grave my form shall shroud,
And worms shall revel on my frame,

I know, I shall behold my God;

The Great Jehovah is his name!

ON THE DEATH OF MY LAMENTED DAUGHTER, L. M. D.

Thou art gone from among us, so lovely and fair.
No more shall the sound of thy lyre,

Through our halls sweetly echo! Still sadness is there,

And gone is the tuneful choir!

Oh, quench'd is that eye-beam, and quench'd is the light

Of sacred "poetical fire,"

And that genius, which shone so resplendently bright, Hath ceased our wrapt souls to inspire!

Sweet spirit of purity! where hast thou flown?
To what region of light, and of peace?

To what brilliant planet-say-where is thy home?
And where do thy wanderings cease?

Art thou borne on the light cloud of evening along

Thro' the azure expanse of heaven?

Or is thy freed soul now number'd among

The beautiful stars of even?

The sound of thy harp-strings steal over my soul
In the sadness and stillness of night;

In strings so celestial the sweet numbers roll,
That my senses are wrapt in delight.

Alas! these are visions, delusive and vain,
Which cheat my fond fancy, and lead me astray;
Oh! teach me, blest cherub, thy loss to sustain
Till I meet thee again in the regions of day.

LINES,

Suggested by receiving a bouquet of rare flowers, with many other attentions, peculiarly grateful to an invalid, suffering by long confinement.

Beautiful blossoms! emblems fair

Of purity and truth!

I love to breathe their fragrance rare,
The gift of happy youth.

Full well I know the generous wish
To smooth the brow of care,
And 'rase the wrinkles, which the hand
Of grief hath planted there,

Impelled thee, gentle maid, to send

Thy treasures from their place,
Enriched with all their sweet perfume,
My couch of pain to grace.

Thy Father, love, who dwells on high,

Amid his angel choirs,

Sees from his throne beyond the sky;
'Tis He thy heart inspires!

'Tis the "Divinity within"

Thy warm and gentle breast;
And his approving smile shall win
For thee a glorious rest.

When sorrow lays her blighting hand

Upon thy youthful form,

Dear friends, beloved, thy couch shall spread,
And shield thee from the storm.

And may that God, whose tender care
Protects each fragile flower,
Transplant thee to his garden fair,
In Eden's blooming bower!

LINES TO

Shall I sing of a face that is blooming and fair?
And of dimples and smiles, which are revelling there,
Of a broad white brow, and of ringlets bright,
Of the soft blue eye which is beaming with light?

Shall I sing of a lofty and dignified mien,
Of a graceful carriage, a step like a queen?
Alas! these are fleeting-tho' lovely the bloom
Of the rose on thy cheek, it may fade ere 'tis noon.

Those beautiful dimples that play round that face,
Must soon to the furrows of age give place!
And old Time will plant the deep wrinkles of care
On that brow now so lovely, so placid and fair.

Those soft, waving ringlets, so glossy and bright,
His hand will displace for a silvery white,
And that form so majestic, so noble and proud,
One day 'neath the pressure of time must be bowed.

Then what shall I say? shall I sing of the mind Which, within that fair, perishing form, is enshrined? Its virtues are lasting, they never decay

"But grow brighter and brighter as time wears away."

'Tis the spirit divine, which to mortals is given,-
Oh! 'tis surely a bright emanation from heaven!
Its light grows more brilliant 'mid nature's decay,
And it beams thro' eternity's long, endless day.

FIFTY-FIFTH PSALM.

Give ear unto my fervent prayer
My Father! and my God!
My cup with sorrow overflows,-
I sink beneath thy rod!

Trembling, I view the fearful path,
And overwhelmed with woe,

My spirit sinks within me, Lord!
Surrounded by the foe;

My bursting heart, my aching frame,
Can scarce sustain the load;
My sins with anguish fill my soul,
And make me doubt my God!

Oh! could I fly like yonder dove,
How soon I'd wing my way
Through trackless ether's broad expanse,
To realms of endless day!

Or to some thick embowering wood
I'd speed my airy flight,

Or in some dreary wilderness,

Would shade me from their sight:

There might the frowning tempest howl,
Fearless I'd brave the storm-
And 'mid the clustering branches hide.
My wan and wasted form.

Yet why these vain inventions seek?
Doth not Jehovah reign?

In His protection I'll rejoice,

Nor shall I trust in vain!

A stranger's cold contemptuous glance
My soul had met with scorn,
Each slander, levelled at my name,
I had in silence borne:

But he, mine own familiar friend,
Mine equal, and my guide,

He who had shared my inmost thoughts;
Whose love had been my pride;