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Remember, oh remember me,
Unceasing is my love for thee!
When death shall sever earthly ties,
When thy loved form all senseless lies.

Oh that my soul with thine could flee,
And roam through wide eternity;
Could tread with thee the courts of heaven,
And count the brilliant stars of even.

Farewell, dear mother, for awhile
I must resign thy plaintive smile;
May angels watch thy couch of woe,
And joys unceasing round thee flow.

1831

TO A FLOWER.

THE blighting hand of winter
Has laid thy glories low;
Oh, where is all thy beauty?
Where is thy freshness now?
Summer has pass'd away,
With every smiling scene,
And nature in decay

Assumes a mournful mien.
How like adversity's rude blast
Upon the helpless one,
When hope's gay visions all have passed,
And to oblivion gone.

Yet winter has some beauties left,
Which cheer my heart forlorn;
Nature is not of charms bereft,
Though shrouded by the storm.
I see the sparkling snow;
I view the mountain tops;
I mark the frozen lake below,
Or the dark rugged rocks.
How truly grand the scene!
The giant trees are bare,
No fertile meadows intervene,
No hillocks fresh and fair;
But the cloud-capp'd mountains rise,
Crown'd with purest whiteness,
And mingle with the skies,

That shine with azure brightness.
And solitude, that friend so dear
To each reflecting mind,
Her residence has chosen here
To soothe the heart refined.

STANZAS.

ROLL on, roll on, bright orb of day;
Roll on, thou beauteous queen of even
Ye stars, that ever twinkling play,
And sweetly grace the azure heaven.

Roll on, until thy God's command
Shall rend the sky and tear the earth,
Till he stretch forth his mighty hand
To check the voice of joyous mirth.

He spread the heavens as a scroll,
He made the sea, he form'd the world,
The heavens again shall backward roll,
And mountains from their base be hurl'd.

He form'd the lovely verdant green,
And aught of fair that e'er has been;
These beauties all shall pass away,
And in one shapeless ruin lay.

But God in his glory, the God of the sky,
Will continue through endless eternity;
For ever untainted, all holy and pure,
His love and his mercy shall ever endure.

ESSAY ON NATURE.

How just, how pure, how holy is the great Creator of the universe! When I gaze upon all the wonders of nature, the rippling stream, the distant mountain, the rugged rock, or the gently sloping hill, my mind turns to the first Great Cause of all; the Author of this mingled beauty, grandeur, and simplicity. God made this beautiful world for us, that we might be happy, and why are we not so? Because we do not seek real happiness. We are striving to obtain worldly pleasure; but what is that, compared with the happiness of a child of God? He feels and knows that his Saviour is ever dear; he weeps over his past follies with a sweet consciousness that they are all forgiven; that the kind Shepherd has brought back his lost sheep to the fold. He trusts in the goodness of his Creator. His faith is firm in the blessed Saviour who died for him; he has charity for all, love for all. Such is the Christian! His earthly sorrows seem light, for his thoughts are continually upon his just Preserver. What is man, frail, feeble man, but a flower of the field, that fades away with the rude blast of the autumnal storm! How infinite the love which sustains him!

Plattsburgh, 1832.

VERSES WRITTEN WHEN NINE YEARS OF AGE.

1832.

HOME.

YONDER orb of dazzling light
Sinks beneath the robe of night,
And the moon so sweetly pale,
Waits to lift her silver veil.

One by one the stars appear,
Glittering in the heavenly sphere,
And sparkling in their bright array,
Welcome in the close of day.
But home, that stered, pure retreat,
Where dwells my heart in all that's sweet,
And my own stream, where oft I've stray'd,
And mark'd the beams that o'er it play'd,
Is far away, o'er the waters blue,
Far from my fondly straining view.

THE MAJESTY OF GOD.

WITH the lightning his throne, and the thunder his voice,

He rides through the troubled sky;

He bids all his angels in heaven rejoice,

And thunders his wrath from on high!

"On the wing of the whirlwind he fearlessly rides,"
O'er the heavens, the earth, and the ocean he strides;
The breath of his nostrils the lightning's flame,
All nature re-echoes his powerful name!

FROM THE FORTY-SECOND PSALM.

WHY is my bosom fill'd with fear,

And why cast down my troubled soul?
Is not thy God, thy Saviour near,
And will he not thy fate control?
How mighty is my Saviour's hand,
How powerful his word,
And how can I, a sinful worm,
Address him as my Lord?
Jehovah sends his mighty breath
Across the placid sea;
The foaming waters proudly whirl,
As longing to be free.

Deep calleth unto deep aloud,

The raging billows follow thee;
Thou send'st the roaring waves abroad,
Which rush o'erwhelming over me.

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HYMN OF THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.

WELCOME, oh welcome, god of day!
Thy presence gives us peace!
All hail, eternal, glorious king,
Thy light shall never cease!
Transcendent Sun! oh list to one
Whose heart is fill'd with love;
Let the sweet airs lift high our prayers
To thee our God above.

Pure orb of light! resplendent, bright;
Oh, who may cope with thee?
And who may dare to view thee there,
And never bend the knee?

Before thy ray the guilty flee,

And dread thy cheerful beam,
Lest thy fierce eye their crimes descry,
And chill hope's trembling gleam.

To thee we bow, for on thy brow
Is majesty impress'd,
Glory thy shroud, thy throne the cloud,
Which circles o'er thy breast.

The blushing flower will own thy power;
It blooms alone for thee;
And though so frail, oh hear my wail,
My blessed guardian be!

When the first ray of brilliant day
Illumes the hill, the plain,
The songsters raise a hymn of praise,
Oh, listen to my strain.

When thy loved form, which braves the storm,

In ocean disappears,

One mournful cry ascends on high,
The night is spent in tears.

But lest we mourn for thy return,
And pine away in grief,
The orb of night supplies thy light,
And gives us sweet relief.

Then on my head, Eternal! shed
Thy warmest, purest beam,
And to my heart content impart,
With gratitude serene.

Then, when, at last, my sorrows past,
With thee in light I'll roam,
And by thy side securely ride,
Thy bosom for my home.

1833.

ENIGMA.

SOMETIMES I grace the maiden's brow,
And lend her cheek a brighter glow;
Or grim and strong, secure the wall
Of many a castle gate from all.
The palace boasts me always there,
To guard the walls and bless the fair;
The meanest cot I ne'er disdain,
Yet guard the portals of the brain.-Lock.

TO A LITTLE COUSIN AT CHRISTMAS.

My dear little George, oh did you but know
How delighted I'd be could I meet with you now;
Oh could I but print on your forehead a kiss,
To thy Margaret the moment were unalloy'd bliss.
Thy flowers and acorns I've cherished with care,
And to me they have seen'd more than lovely and fair,
For thoughts of the friends I have left far behind,
And sweet recollections will crowd on my mind,
As I gaze on the tokens presented by you,
And the sweet little letter you've written me too;
I fancy I see thee on bright Christmas day,
With Kitty and mother all sportive at play,
Admiring the bounty St. Nicholas gave
To the boy who was worthy his counsel so grave.
Oh could I but join thee, my beautiful boy,
In thy holiday pastimes and innocent joy!
Is "Aunty" still working on bonnets and capes ?
Or examining flowers of all sizes and shapes?
Does Aiken's Collection still lie on her lap,
While her fingers are plaiting some ruffle or cap?
Is thy " dear little mother" still lively and gay,
Pleasing and pleased, as when I came away?
And Annie and Kitty, and grandfather too?
But 'tis time, my dear George, I bade you adieu.
Tell uncle, and brother, and all whom I love,
My letters alone my affection must prove.

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