The Kings and Queens of England with Other Poems | Page 6

GRAND-DAUGHTERS, M. AND L.--AN ACROSTIC.
Mary and Lily--how sweet are those names,
Allied as they are to my
heart and my home;
Recalling with freshness the days that are past,

Yielding buds of sweet promise for days yet to come.
Links are these names to the chain that hath bound
In fetters my heart,
to which still they lay claim;
Loved ones and lovely, still close by me
found,
Years past, and time present, whose names are the same.
Enshrined in this bosom, is living one now,
Still youthful and truthful,
and talented too,
Though years have elapsed since she passed from
our view;
E'en in Summer midst roses in beauty and bloom,
She
faded away, and was borne to the tomb.
Weston, March 5, 1852.
FOR MY FRIEND MRS. R.
When writing to you, friend, a subject I'd find
In which there's both
pleasure and profit combined,
And though what I've chosen may pain
in review,
Yet still there's strange mingling of pleasure there too.

Then let us go back many years that are past,
And glance at those
days much too happy to last.
I have seen thee, my friend, when
around thy bright hearth
Not a seat was found vacant, but gladness
and mirth
Kept high holiday there, and many a time
Were mingled
in pastime my children with thine.
I've looked in again, the destroyer

had come,
And changed the whole aspect of that happy home.
He
entered that dwelling, and rudely he tore
From the arms of his mother,
her most cherished flower.
Thy heart seemed then broken, oh! how
couldst thou bear
To live in this world, and thy idol not here?
Oh!
heart-stricken mother, thou didst not then know
All the bitter
ingredients in thy cup of woe.
The hand of thy father that cup had
prepared,
Each drop needful for thee, not one could be spared.
Ere
thy first wound had healed, while bleeding and sore,
Death entered
again, and a fair daughter bore
From home of her childhood, to return
never more.
How painful the shock, for in striking that blow
A
child, parent, sister, and wife was laid low.
Thy strength seemed
unequal that shock to sustain,
But death was not satiate, he soon
called again,
And tears and entreaties were powerless to save

Another dear daughter from death and the grave.
Like a fair lily when
droops its young head,
With little of suffering her mild spirit fled.

She was thy namesake, to her young friends most dear;
So many thy
trials, so heavy to bear,
It seemed that much longer thou couldst not
survive;
How much can the human heart bear and yet live.
Up to
this time there had always been one
Who shared in thy trials and
made them his own;
Many years his strong arm had support been to
thee,
The friend of thy youth, thy kind husband was he.
He's ever
been with thee in weal and in woe,
But the time's just at hand when
he too must go.
The bolt fell not single, it pierced the slight form
Of
a child, too fragile to weather the storm;
The summons that took her
dear father away
Seemed her young heart to break, she could not here
stay,
And now in deep slumber they side by side lay.
I have felt, my
dear friend, as I've witnessed thy grief,
How inadequate language to
give thee relief;

And that real relief could never be found
Except
from the hand that inflicted the wound.
In the furnace of fire thou
wert not alone,
For walking beside thee had ever been one,
The
kindest of friends, though thou could'st not him see,
For the scales on
thine eyes weighed them down heavily.
Those scales have now fallen;
look up, thou canst see
That look of compassion, it's fixed upon thee.


Raise thine eyes once again, see that head crowned with thorns; In
those feet, hands, and side, see the deep bleeding wounds. You now
know full well why such suffering was borne,
'Twas for thee, and for
me, and for every one
Who trusts in his merits and on him alone.

Thy day is just passed, 'tis now evening with thee,
But the faith of the
Christian is given to see
The star of bright promise, amid the dark
gloom
Which shall light all thy footsteps and gild the lone tomb; And
at the last day mayst thou and thine stand
An unbroken household at
Jesus' right hand.
March 27, 1852.
FOR MY NIECE ANGELINE.
In the morning of life, when all things appear bright,
And far in the
distance the shadows of night,
With kind parents still spared thee, and
health to enjoy,
What period more fitting thy powers to employ
In
the service of him, who his own life has given
To procure thee a
crown and a mansion in Heaven.
As a dream that is gone at the
breaking of day,
And a tale that's soon told, so our years pass away.

"Then count that day lost, whose low setting sun
Can see from thy
hand no worthy act done."
Midst the roses of life many thorns thou
wilt find,
"But the cloud that is darkest, with silver is lined."
As the
children of Israel were led on their way
By