The Snow-Drop | Page 6

heart,?Till angels in glory, well pleased with the strain,?Re-echoed it over the heavenly plain.
The sound of thy voice we can never forget,?Thy last parting smile sweetly lingers here yet;?And since thy freed spirit to heaven was borne,?Our hearts crave the boon o'er thy mem'ry to mourn.
Adieu, dearest Mary, thy spirit has flown?To those blissful regions where tears are unknown;?No trials assail thee, no troubles or fears,--?The smile of thy Savior has dried up thy tears.
No more shalt thou weep o'er thy dear Henry,[3] dead--?For now by his side thou art resting thy head;?Thou now dost behold him in glory above.?But Jesus, thy Savior, outvies him in love.
Transported with joy, with thy Savior at rest,?Though angels are singing, you'll praise him the best.?Bright glories, unfolding, still burst on thy view--?The song thou art chanting will ever be new.
Thy sun at its zenith on earth ceased to shine,?But beams with new lustre in regions divine;?For ages eternal 't will ever shine on--?Still gath'ring new splendor from God's dazzling throne.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: Husband of Mrs. W.]
THOUGHTS
Occasioned by the sudden death of J.W.N.
The short lived, fragrant, vernal flower,?Which blooms and withers in an hour,?With him may well compare;?His life was like the meteor's light,?Which shone and vanished from the sight--?Dissolving in the air.
Not so the thrilling ties that bind?The loved one's image to the mind--?It lives and brightens there;?Engraved upon each bleeding heart,?Which cannot, will not, deign to part?With such a jewel rare.
REFLECTIONS
OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF S. WHITE, OF LIVERMORE,?WHO DIED DEC. 25TH, 1842, AGED 26.
Why do these tears bedew our eyes??Why heaves the breast with bursting sighs??We've seen a friend depart;?In vain we tune our harp and sing,?We cannot touch that thrilling string,?Which vibrates in the heart.
Engaging, graceful and refined,?Frank, open, generous and kind,?Was our departed friend;?His mental powers were deep and clear,--?His ardent friendship, most sincere,?With life alone could end.
His heart could feel for others' woe--?How oft his footsteps, soft and low,?Fell on the suff'rer's ear!?Each word he spake, their grief to quell,?Seemed waters gushing from a well,?Whose fount was deep and clear.
In early years he mourned for sin,?And prayed for garments white and clean,?Washed in the Savior's blood.?He journeyed on for many years,?Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears,?But found a pard'ning God.
His lustrous eyes are dim in death,?His voice passed like the zephyr's breath,?That heart has lost its lone;?But while we weep around his dust,?That soul its prison doors hath burst,?And worships 'round the throne.
But shall we murmur and complain??Shall our warm tears descend like rain?Around his early grave??While kindred dear must weep and mourn,?More sacred tears bedew his urn?Than ever friendship gave.
That brother, who with him has played?Beside the brook, or in the shade?Where feathered warblers sang,?And sported by the river side,?Or o'er the ice taught him to glide,?While merry laughter rang--
His love increased with growing years,?One were their hopes, their joys, their fears,?Their Savior, too, was one.?That brother's grief must be severe,?Yet from his lips we hope to hear,?"My Father's will be done."
Like ivy, round some youthful pine,?Did Julia's warm affections twine?Round his fraternal heart;?Through adverse scenes they struggled long,?Which rendered nature's ties more strong,?But they, alas! must part.
Should fell disease assail her now,?Place his pale signet on her brow,?And chill her heart with fear;?No more he'd stand beside her bed,--?Bathe her parched lips, and aching head,?And strive her mind to cheer.
She'll range the paths where they have strayed,?And wander through the silent shade,?And ask, "is brother here?"?She'll view the grave, and that will say?There's naught within but mould'ring clay,?No more will he appear.
That sister, who hath sought a friend?To share her grief till time shall end,?Must still in tears be drowned;?Although a partner soothes her grief,?And kindly strives to give relief,?And children cluster round;--
She sees their glossy ringlets flow,?In clusters o'er each little brow;?They speak of days gone by,?When she with brother often strayed,?O'er hill and dale and flow'ry glade,?Where golden sunbeams lie.
A fair young friend, whose aching 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