He seeks the dear paternal hearth,
To die by his fond parent's side;
To him the dearest friends on earth,
Who with a smile each tear would hide.
A few short weeks he lingered there,
While heav'nly peace reigned in his breast;
He cries, my friends, oh now prepare
To meet where sorrows ne'er molest.
Though earthly friends are dear to me,
I feel them twining round my heart,
A friend in heaven, by faith, I see,
Who bids my joyful soul depart.
Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears;
Bid ev'ry murm'ring thought be still;
My mind is free from doubts and fears,—
I sink into my Savior's will.
With smiles of vict'ry on his brow,
And heav'nly transport in his breast,
Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe,
And like an infant sinks to rest.
Down through the portals of the sky
Descend a glorious shining band.
Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's right hand.
Nor does the monster yet relent,—
Four blooming victims he has slain,
Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.
And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom?
Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the tomb.
See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she must go.
With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,
The precious jewel which he gave.
But when the trump of God shall sound,
To call each sainted sleeper home,
Should they, with ev'ry child, surround
The mighty conq'ror of the tomb—
They'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just,
Behold is and our children here!
Thou didst in love give them to us,
And we resigned them to thy care.
Now we will chant Redemption's sung,
Which Gabriel never learned to sing,
Nor one of all th' angelic throng,—
To Jesus, prophet, priest and king.
THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.[2]
No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers,
Could be more sweet than these dear flowers
To each surviving friend;
They'll water them with falling tears,
And nurse them through succeeding years,
And from each ill defend.
Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,—
My daughters planted you and died,—
You are most dear to me;
Each now in smiling beauty stands,
Where placed by these fair youthful hands,—
Sweet rose and lilac tree.
Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air,—
I love to see you flourish there,
And in bright beauty bloom;
Each tiny leaf I hold most dear,
Although you oft call forth a tear
For loved ones in the tomb.
Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may;
Your fading leaves will soon portray
The lovely, fragile form,
Which passed from earth while skies seemed fair,
Like vapors quiv'ring in the air,
Before a coming storm.
I gaze upon these opening flowers—
They bring a dream of blissful hours,
When brighter germs were mine;
Once on my throbbing bosom lay
Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they,
Fraught with immortal minds.
'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade—
Fair emblems of the youthful dead,
But spring restores their bloom.
Just so the saints that droop and die,
When Gabriel's trump shall rend the sky,
Will leave the mould'ring tomb.
They'll leave this dull, this earthly sod,
And, in the garden of our God,
Bloom with celestial grace,
Where frost and mildew ne'er can blight;
There, all enraptured with delight,
God's wondrous works they'll trace.
FOOTNOTES:
The Rose and Lilac trees, referred to above, were
planted by two youthful sisters a short time before their
death.
planted by two youthful sisters a short time before their
death.
LINES
Composed on the death of Mrs. Mary M. West, of Jay.
Dear Mary, while thou art in heaven, at rest,
We're mourning thy absence, bereft and depressed;
For thou wert so faithful, so winning and kind,
That our hearts' ev'ry fibre around thee entwined.
How oft have we listened, unwilling to part,
While sweet heavenly music gushed forth from thy 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:
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