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When death shall chill this aged heart,
That time but closer links with thine,
And sad tears unforbidden start,

Still let some silent thoughts be mine.
Oh think how constant I have proved,
How dearly prized thou wert by me,
How sorrow tried, and yet I loved,

And dared the storm, if blessed with thee.

Our love began in early years,

When hearts elate ne'er dream life's day,
Though breaking light, may set in tears,
Or fleet with cruel speed away.
Our kindred slumber side by side,

Where yonder bending blossoms wave,
Grief rent each heart but thine, my bride,
And yielded quiet and the grave.

And soon the saddening hour will rise,

When death shall steel my glance from you,

And tears will fill those faithful eyes,

When with my friends I slumber too.

Then may thy trembling footsteps stray,
And plant the light leaf o'er my breast,
Where the bright sun may cast his ray,

And gild it ere he sinks to rest.

Richard Ryan.


They wept those aged patriots wept,

The fame of vanished


And burning thoughts, which long had slept,

Now melted them to tears;

They well remembered Salem's state,

Ere Babel laid it desolate.

They saw the second temple rise,

But oh less fair and bright!
And e'en their age-enfrozen eyes

Dropped sorrow at the sight;

They thought of many a long passed scene
Of what they were, and what had been.

Captivity hath been their lot

For many a lonely day, Yet Salem cannot be forgot

Or memory pass away

And memory told the tale too well,

For which their bitter tear-drops fell.


To mark the sufferings of the babe,
That cannot speak its woe;
To see the infant tears gush forth,
Yet know not why they flow;
To meet the meek uplifted eye
That fain would ask relief,
Yet can but tell of agony-
This is a mother's grief!

Through dreary days and darker nights,
To trace the march of death;
To hear the faint and frequent sigh,

The quick and shortened breath;


To mark the last dread strife draw near,
And pray that struggle brief,
Though all is ended with its close-
This is a mother's grief.

To see in one short hour decayed
The hope of future years;

To feel how vain a father's prayers,

How vain a mother's tears;

To think the cold grave now must close
O'er what was once the chief

Of all the treasured joys of earth—
This is a mother's grief!

Yet when the first wild throb is past
Of anguish and despair,

To lift the eye of faith to heaven,
And think, my child is there !'

This best can dry the gushing tears,
This yields the heart relief,
Until the Christian's pious hope

O'ercomes a mother's grief.



With what unknown delight the mother smiled,
When this frail treasure in her arms she pressed!
Her prayer was heard-she clasped a living child;-
But how the gift transcends the poor request !
A child was all she asked, with many a vow:
Mother-behold the child an angel now!

Now in her father's house she finds a place; Or if to earth she take a transient flight, 'Tis to fulfil the purpose of his grace,

To guide thy footsteps to the world of light;A ministering spirit sent to thee,

That where she is, there thou may'st also be.

Miss Jane Taylor.


Calm and warm is the summer sky,
And the summer sun is bright,

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