The Snow-Drop | Page 7

heart
Now feels affliction's keenest
dart,
Must long in sadness weep;
Her brightest hopes are fled away,

Alas! her sweetest joys decay,
They in the grave must sleep.
Her heart still bleeds at every pore,
That much loved form she'll see
no more,
Till Gabriel's trump shall sound;
We trust they'll then in
raptures rise,
To that blight world above the skies,
Where tears no
more are found.
His aged parents feel the blow;
Long since they gazed upon his brow,

And blessed their infant boy;
Trembling with age, we hear them
say,
"This dear support is torn away,
What now can yield us joy?
"Long years we watched our lovely plant,
With care supplied its
every want,
And hoped it long might bloom;
But fierce disease has
laid it low,
Reckless of tears that 'round it flow.
And laid it in the
tomb.
"Long, long we nursed his fading form,
And strove to shun the
gath'ring storm,
Which threaten'd in the sky;
Yet from our bleeding
bosoms torn,
Our darling son leaves us to mourn;
Who can his
place supply?"
But could their vision now extend
To those bright realms where

dwells their friend,
Their tears would cease to flow;
They'd long to
leave this dusky sphere,
And from their lips we soon should hear,

"Dear Savior, let me go."
No more they'd wish the seraph here,
To wander in this vale so drear,

And lay his glory by;
To suffer years of grief and pain,
And cross
cold Jordan's stream again,
To reach the joys on high.
THE SISTER'S LAMENT
LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF E. TORRY, OF
PORTLAND
Oh, Edward, dear Edward! how precious that sound,
I seek for an
equal--it cannot be found;
In tones soft and pensive it visits my ear,--

I fain would believe thou art hovering near.
Since thy happy spirit to heaven has fled,
Art thou with me by day,
by night round my bed?
I visit thy grave and bedew it with tears,
To
share in my sorrow, no Edward appears.
On earth 't was thy pleasure to soothe all my grief,
To wipe off my
tears and to bring me relief;
Thy heart's warm affections were
lavished on me,
I've spent happy moments conversing with thee.
My counselor, playmate, my guide, and my friend,
On whom I might
always in safety depend,
In paths of fair virtue my feet thou hast led,

Where vice, that foul monster, dares not show his head.
Nor was all thy kindness bestowed upon one;
Thou wast an
affectionate, dutiful son;
Thy dear honored parents drank deep of thy
love,
None ever shared more but thy Father above.
Thy father now sinks 'neath a burden of woe,
His once brilliant eyes
now with tears overflow;
Thy mother sits weeping, thy fond brothers

sigh,
The dear little children cease playing and cry.
Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom,
Deep sorrow sits brooding
all round our sweet home;
The soft venial zephyrs come sighing
along,
The streamlets are murm'ring a sad, mournful song.
The gray twilight shades come attended with gloom,
While like a
dark pall they encircle thy tomb;
When soft showers descend,
something whispers to me,
That tears from the clouds are descending
for thee.
No star spangled heavens nor cool shady bowers,
No deep ancient
forest or fair fragrant flowers
Can fill up the void that I feel in my
breast,
Although thou art tuning thy harp with the blest.
In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep,
It cheers up my spirits and
I cease to weep;
Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall dwell,

I'll keep it there always, I love it so well.
LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR.
I'll weave a bracelet of this hair,--
Although these locks so hallowed
are,
It seems like sacrilege to wear
Such relics of the dead.
I've seen them clust'ring 'round a brow
Which drooped beneath
affliction's blow,
And slumbers in the church-yard now,
With all its
beauty flown.
The hand that dressed these locks with care,
And 'ranged them 'round
that brow so fair,
And oft clasped mine with friendly air,
Is turning
back to dust.
And closed those eyes, whose radiant beams
Surpass'd imagination's
dreams,
Yet whisp'ring still, were but faint gleams
Emerging from

the soul.
Farewell, dear friend, these locks I'll keep,
Till in the grave with thee
I sleep;
There, like thee, may I cease to weep,
And, with thee, wake
to sing.
LINES
SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE LAST
HOURS OF MRS.
SARAH JUDSON, SECOND WIFE OF THE
LATE LAMENTED DR. JUDSON,
OF BURMAN.
"I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of the Lord be

done."--Judson's Offering_, 231_st page. These were the words of Mrs.
Judson a few days previous to her death, when questioned as to her
desires respecting the issue of the affliction under which she was
suffering.
Life's trials and dangers will all soon be o'er,
I feel myself nearing the
heavenly shore,
I'm weary of wand'ring, oh! fain would I rest
With
Jesus, my Savior, and sleep on his breast.
I'm weary and thirsty, my spirit has flown
Almost to that river which
bursts from the throne;--
I'd range its fair borders, and plunge in its
flood,
And join with the angels in praising my God.