ELIZA LEE FOLLEN.

(1787-1860.)

MRS. ELIZA LEE FOLLEN, daughter of Samuel and Sarah Cabot, was born in Boston, Aug. 15, 1787. In her early life she contributed various pieces of prose and poetry to the papers and magazines. In 1828 she was married to Prof. Charles Follen, the eminent exiled friend of civil and religious liberty, who came to this country in 1825, and was for some years a teacher of the German Language and of Ecclesiastical History and Ethics at Cambridge, and was afterward the pastor of the Unitarian Society at East Lexington. While minister of this church, he perished on board the ill-fated "Lexington," which was burned on Long Island Sound, Jan. 13, 1840. During more than thirty years of her married life, she published, at intervals, a variety of popular and useful books, all of which were characterized by her well-known purity of taste and sentiment, and by her elevated Christian piety. Among the works she gave to the press are, “Selections from Fénelon," "The Well-spent Hour," "Words of Truth," "The Sceptic," "Married Life," "Little Songs," "Poems," "Life of Charles Follen," "Twilight Stories," "Second Series of Little Songs," a compilation of "Home Dramas,' "German Fairy Tales." In her deep interest in the religious instruction of the young, she edited, in 1829, the "Christian Teacher's Manual," and, from 1843 to 1850, the "Child's Friend." She died in Brookline, Mass., Jan. 26, 1860.

From the volume of "Poems," published in 1839, we copy some of her hymns, several of which have found a place in various church Collections.

With humble hope to bend the knee,

And, free from folly's leaven,
Confess that we have strayed from thee,
Thou righteous Judge in heaven.

And if, to make all sin depart,
In vain the will has striven,

He who regards the inmost heart
Will send his grace from heaven.

If, from the bosom that is dear,

By cold unkindness driven,

The heart, that knows no refuge here,

Shall find a friend in heaven;

Then hail, thou sacred, blessed day,
The best of all the seven,

When hearts unite their vows to pay
Of gratitude to Heaven!

SUNSET ON THE HILLS.

T is the gentle evening hour,

IT

And, see, the shades are lengthening fast;

My spirit feels its softening power,

And troubles, with the day, have passed.

In quiet beauty, fixed repose,

The hills, like guardians of the land,
Catch the last sunbeam as it glows,
And bright in tranquil grandeur stand.

All, all is beauty, love, and peace;
Mysterious longings heave and swell
Within my soul, and shall not cease,

Till a like glory there shall dwell.

"TO WHOM SHALL WE GO?"

WHEN

WHEN our purest delights are nipt in the blossom,
When those we love best are laid low,

When grief plants in secret her thorns in the bosom,
Deserted, "To whom shall we go?"

When error bewilders, and our path becomes dreary,
And tears of despondency flow;

When the whole head is sick, and the whole heart is weary,
Despairing, "To whom shall we go?"

When the sad, thirsty spirit turns from the springs

Of enchantment this life can bestow,

And sighs for another, and flutters its wings,
Impatient, “To whom shall we go?"

Oh! blest be that light which has parted the clouds,
A path to the pilgrim to show,

That pierces the veil which the future enshrouds,
And shows us to whom we may go.

HYMN OF PRAISE.

PRAISE to God! oh, let us raise
From our hearts a song of praise;

Of that goodness let us sing,
Whence our lives and blessings spring.

Praise to him who made the light;
Praise to him who gave us sight;
Praise to him who formed the ear;
Will he not his children hear?

Praise him for our happy hours;
Praise him for our varied powers;
For these thoughts that rise above,
For these hearts he made for love.

For the voice he placed within,
Bearing witness when we sin;
Praise to him whose tender care
Keeps this watchful guardian there.

Praise to his mercy, that did send
Jesus for our guide and friend;
Praise him, every heart and voice,
Him who makes all worlds rejoice.

WE NEVER PART FROM THEE.

GOD, who dwellest everywhere,
God, who makest all thy care,
God, who hearest every prayer,
Thou who seest the heart,
Thou, to whom we lift our eyes,
Father, help our souls to rise,
And, beyond these narrow skies,
See thee as thou art.

Let our anxious thoughts be still,
Holy trust adore thy will,
Holy love our bosoms fill;
Let our songs ascend.
Dearest friends may parted be,
All our earthly treasures flee,
Yet we never part from thee,
Our eternal Friend.

ON PRAYER.

AS through the pathless fields of air

Once wandered forth the timid dove,

So does the heart, in humble prayer,
Essay to reach the throne of love.

Like her, it may return unblest;

Like her, again may soar;

And still return and find no rest,
No peaceful, happy shore.

But now once more she spreads her wings,
And takes a bolder flight,

And, see! the olive-branch she brings,
To bless her master's sight.

And thus the heart renews its strength,
Though spent and tempest-driven;
And higher soars, and brings, at length,
A pledge of peace with Heaven.

THE TWENTY-NINTH PSALM.

IN N the beauty of holiness worship the Lord;
Exalt him, ye nations, and bow to his word;
Ye mighty, his power and wisdom proclaim,
And give him the glory due unto his name.

It is he that we hear in the storm's wild commotion;
And the voice of the Lord is on the wide ocean;
The cedars of Lebanon bow at his voice,

While men in his temple adore and rejoice.

'Tis the Lord in the deep-rolling thunder we hear,
While the untrodden wilderness trembles with fear;
O'er the high-tossing billows unseen is his way ;
Him the floods, and the flames, and the whirlwinds obey.

He spreads o'er his people the wings of his love,
And gives them the peace which descends from above:
Then give him the glory and praise evermore,

And join with all nature his name to adore.