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Thy lyre should sound thy Maker's praise
In music soft and low,

And angels lend a raptured ear

As the sweet numbers flow.

Virtue and truth should hold their throne
Within thy peaceful breast,
And pure religion's chastening power
Fit thee for endless rest.

LINES,

SUGGESTED TO THE AUTHOR UPON LEAVING HER HOME
AT PLATTSBURGH, WHICH WAS DOUBLY ENDEARED
TO HER AS THE BIRTH-PLACE OF HER DAUGHTER
LUCRETIA.

Oh! dear pleasant home, must I bid you adieu,
And all the loved objects so dear to my heart?
How oft will fond memory bring to my view
The long cherish'd scenes from which I must part.

Dear home of enjoyment, of suffering, of grief,
Where fond hopes were blasted, bright visions de-

stroyed,

Where the cup of affliction I've drank long and deep, And happiness exquisite likewise enjoyed

*Oh! there have I watched the young dawnings of

genius,

Their beams bright and dazzling, but transient as bright;

They glanced o'er my path like a meteor at evening, And hastily set in the deep shades of night.

* Alluding to my daughter L. M. D.

But they left a reflection so bright and transcendent,
It beams o'er my soul amid darkness and gloom;
A glorious halo so bright and resplendent,
'Twill lighten my path to the verge of the tomb.

Oh! dear to this heart is each fond recollection,
And sacred the spot her nativity graced!
Which witnessed her virtues, her filial affection,
And hallowed the spot where her ashes are placed.

TO MY DAUGHTER MRS. A. Ε. Τ.

Oh, dear one! 'mid scenes of enjoyment and peace,
When thy full cup of happiness nearly o'erflows,
When bright rosy health all thy joys shall increase,
Then think not of her, 'twill disturb thy repose;
Oh! think not of her.

But when pain and disease shall ruffle that brow, When anguish has faded that health-blooming cheek, When all the bright visions which play round thee

now

Shall have vanished in air-Oh! then, dearest one, speak,

Oh! then think of her.

Think of her who has watched, who has wept, who

has prayed,

That heaven would avert every sorrow from thee; That the mildew of sickness shall ne'er cast a shade Of gloom on that face so expressive of glee,

Oh! then think of her.

Think of her who with anguish has heard every sigh Which heaved thy young bosom in infancy bright

(

Who has wiped, with affection, each tear from thine

eye, And pressed thy soft form to her heart with delightThink, dear one, of her.

Think then of the mother, the guardian, the friend,
Whose counsels directed thy footsteps in youth;
Her prayers and her blessings still daily ascend,
For thee, to the fountain of mercy and truth-

Oh! then think of her.

THE LAMENT.

And thou art gone! with the autumn leaf,
Thy fragile form hath faded!
And all our warm and brilliant hopes
In the cold dark tomb are shaded!

Fond memory to my withered soul
Presents my fair, my blighted flower!
Mournful yet sweet her image comes
As in that last, that dying hour,

When, clasped within my feeble arms,
I held thee to my bursting heart,
And met thy tender, earnest gaze,
Which said "dear mother! we must part."

The chastened ray which beamed within
Thine intellectual eye,
Told that a spirit rested there
Whose light could never die!

What high and holy thoughts then gave
Thy broad white brow an angel's light,
As o'er the darkness of the grave
It beamed with inspiration bright!

Thou art an angel now, my child,
Each rich and glowing thought,
No longer bound by earthly views,
With heavenly themes is fraught!

Thy pure and lofty spirit now
With kindred angels bows-
Thy hallowed lyre, though silent here,
Celestial bands arouse;

The soft melodious anthem peals
Throughout the heavenly courts,
While sister angels catch the strain,
And swell the lofty notes.

And there, with all its vast desires,
Half formed and undefined,
Bathing in streams of endless light,
Lives thy undying mind.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

'Twas midnight-and the moon's chaste beam Illumined Bethlehem's plain; It shed a soft but fitful light

O'er nature's wide domain.

Its quivering beams now softly stream
Amid the branches light

Of the tall palms, which partly shade
The brilliant orb of night.

The thin white clouds majestic move
Across the radiant sky,
Casting a slight and transient shade
O'er objects as they fly.

The countless stars which deck'd the night,

In regal splendour shone,
Pouring their pure and sacred light
On Bethlehem's humble town.

Beneath a tall and shady palm

The slumbering shepherds lay,
Upon the grass their bleating charge
Slept 'neath the moon's pure ray.

Sudden, a peal of music burst
Upon the ravished ear,
The waking shepherds trembling lay,
Transfixed in silent fear.

When, bending from a fleecy cloud,
An angel met their gaze,
While round a flood of glory poured
Which filled them with amaze.

"Fear not! behold, I tidings bring,
Glad tidings of great joy,
To Israel there is born a King;
Let praise your songs employ.

"To you in Bethlehem-town, this day
Is born of David's line,
A sovereign who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign:

"The babe within a manger lies,
All wrapped in swathing bands;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To all the Gentile lands."

The soft melodious anthem ceased,
When, to their raptured sight,
The parting cloud a host displayed
Of angels dazzling bright.

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