We never slept beneath one roof, nor sate beside one hearth; And yet methinks we are not strange,-so many chains there be Which seem to weave a viewless band between my soul and thee. Sweet sister of my early friend, the kind, the single hearted, Than whose remembrance none more bright still gilds the days departed; Beloved, with more than sister's love, by some whose love to me Is now almost my brightest gem in this world's treasury Shall I not love thee, sainted one, to whom such love was given? Shall I not mourn thy loss on earth, yet hail thy flight to Heaven? IV. Thy grave is wet with bitter tears from eyes whose friendly smile Hath power to cheer my sinking heart, my heaviest cares beguile; The cordial tones and kindly looks, which gladden me and mine, Oft smiled and sounded pleasantly in unison with thine: And should it be God's holy will that we their graves should see, Our tears will flow as fast for them as theirs have flow'd for thee. K Thou must not be estranged from us-we too must share thy love; We claim thee for our spirit friend, our sister saint above. Where'er thy present home may be, whate'er thy present bliss, We call thee from thine own bright world to smile on us in this. V. If blessed souls may wander from the region of their rest, If thou watchest still the infant's sleep who lately drain'd thy breast, If still around the nuptial bed thy phantom footsteps glide, If still thou walk'st invisible by thy saintly parent's side, We bid thee-wilt thou hear us-from the haunts thou hold'st so dear, To join awhile our fireside group, and view our friendly cheer. Hover near us in thy holiness, smile sweet on home and hearth, Let thy unseen presence soothe our woes and sanctify our mirth; So may we with thy spirit hold communion calm and high, Till we follow thee, by Jesus' grace, to thy home beyond the sky. STANZAS WRITTEN IN A SICK ROOM BEFORE DAWN, JANUARY 8, 1835. I. Ar length they slumber sweetly, The mother and her child; And all their pains completely Are now to rest beguiled. Thank God, who to our prayers Hath sent this blest reply, To soothe awhile my anxious cares, Our maid, with watching weary, To late repose is gone; And in this chamber dreary I sit and muse alone; O joy that, for a space, My heart to muse is free From my sweet boy's imploring face, III. And joy! that his dear mother, Beside him close reclined, Doth in oblivion smother The sorrows of her mind; And that her body's pangs, Which she so meekly bore, Relax awhile their piercing fangs, And vex her frame no more. IV. Who would not share my anguish, Two gentle souls like those, V. For oh! in this dark season What tales doth conscience tell! How doth awaken'd reason Reveal the bosom's hell! What shapes before me start, Of sins long cherish'd in my heart, VI. Full many a wild transgression, In this sad hour of thought: And headstrong courses run, Through paths of vice and wrong; And deeds not done which should be done, And talents buried long. VII. They stand reveal'd before me, And manhood's sloth are there, And service slack perform'd to truth, And much neglect of prayer. VIII. Ah! little think my neighbours IX. And is it then to chasten These grievous faults in me, That pain and sickness fasten Their fangs, my child, on thee? Is it for sins of mine, My own beloved wife, That all these fiery pangs of thine X. Oh then, with deep repentance Let me avert the blow, |