Whate'er those pangs from me conceal'd, To thee in midnight groans reveal'd;

They stung remembrance to despair;
"A wounded Spirit who can bear!"
Meanwhile Disease, with slow decay,
Moulder'd his feeble frame away;
And as his evening sun declined,
The shadows deepen'd o'er his mind.
What doubts and terrors then possess'd
The dark dominion of his breast!

How did delirious fancy dwell

On Madness, Suicide, and Hell!

There was on earth no POWER to save :

-But, as he shudder'd o'er the grave,

He saw from realms of light descend
The friend of him who has no friend,

RELIGION!Her almighty breath

Rebuked the winds and waves of death;

F

She bade the storm of frenzy cease,
And smiled a calm, and whisper'd peace;
Amidst that calm of sweet repose,

TO HEAVEN his gentle Spirit rose.

VERSES

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE JOSEPH BROWNE, OF LOTHERSDALE,

ONE OF THE PEOPLE CALLED QUAKERS,

Who had suffered a long Confinement in the Castle of York, and Loss of all his worldly Property, for Conscience Sake.

"SPIRIT, leave thine house of clay;
Lingering Dust, resign thy breath!
Spirit, cast thy chains away;

Dust, be thou dissolved in death!"

Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL spoke,
As he watch'd thy dying bed;
As the bonds of life he broke,
And the ransom'd captive fled.

"Prisoner, long detain'd below;

Prisoner, now with freedom blest;

Welcome, from a world of woe,
Welcome to a land of rest!"

Thus thy GUARDIAN ANGEL sang,
As he bore thy soul on high;
While with Hallelujahs rang
All the region of the sky.

-Ye that mourn a FATHER'S loss,

Ye that weep a FRIEND no more!

Call to mind the CHRISTIAN cross,

Which your FRIEND, your FATHER bore.

Grief and penury and pain

Still attended on his way,

And Oppression's scourge and chain,

More unmerciful than they.

Yet while travelling in distress,

('Twas the eldest curse of sin)

Through the world's waste wilderness,
He had paradise within.

And along that vale of tears,

Which his humble footsteps trod,

Still a shining path appears,

Where the MOURNER walk'd with GOD

Till his MASTER, from above,

When the promised hour was come,

Sent the chariot of his love

To convey the WANDERER home.

Saw

ye

not the wheels of fire,

And the steeds that cleft the wind?

Saw ye not his soul aspire,

When his mantle dropp'd behind?