To snatch a sinking world from righteous ruin,
Yet vindicate the law which seal'd its doom.
A plan omnipotent, whose vast design

Draws in its wond'rous compass, all which man
Can need, though lost, and all which God requires;
And, sweetly blending, harmonizing
O'erpowers, and mingles in its mighty rays,

all,

The congregated glories of the whole.

Dear day of rest and meditation sweet!

Ne'er may'st thou find my heart so treach'rous grown.
As to prefer the worldling's day to thee;
But may each weekly visit find my soul
More raised above earth's gilded vanities,
Till the last Sabbath of the waiting saint,

The endless rest which Christ has promis'd, çome!

WRITTEN IN MAY 1820, AFTER THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND."

'Smile, Nature smile; the tearful eye

Of WIDOWHOOD thou need'st not wear:

Winter, thy sullen foe's gone by;

Fresh bound thy streams, soft glows thine air.

Weep'st thou, to lift thy youthful brow

And smile, while aches this bleeding heart?
Oh, I have lov'd, and love thee now,
Chang'd Nature as to me thou art.

Yes, thou may'st smile, and not for me,
Enshroud thy virgin charms in gloom,
And veil thy face in sympathy,

With shade and sadness of the tomb.
There was, and low that form is laid,
And still that bosom's conscious glow,
And deep the sleep, and dense the shade,
And hush'd the life-blood's vital flow.

He lov'd thee too: and he is gone;

From this fond heart so early riv❜n.
And now, thou see'st me all alone,
To weep, and trace my way to heav'n.
Abroad, upon thy modest face,

Meek nature, earliest love of mine,
I fix my sad and silent gaze,

And mourn that alter'd look of thine.

For not in all thy deserts wide,

In blooming vale, or mountain gray,

Or stormy ocean's troubled tide,

In earth, or air, or sky, or sea,

Published in the Boston Recorder of June 10th, 1820.

Meets me the friend I lov'd so well,
And ne'er shall meet on mortal shore:
And long this bosom's anguish'd swell
Shall speak-that we shall meet no more.
Yet, there's a land, which ne'er was trod
By mortal foot: and there is he.
Nature! there dwells thy Maker, God;
And there, that friend these eyes shall see.
And soon, life's journey measur'd o'er,
And death's dividing torrent pass'd,
My soul shall reach that holy shore,

That quiet, peaceful home, at last.
Then death shall ne'er our spirits sever,
But we shall meet, nor pårt forever.

TO HER INFANT SON, BORN AFTER HIS FATHER'S DEATH.

WRITTEN IN 1820.

Sleep on, sleep on, thou little stranger,
Ere thy birth an orphan made,

Usher'd into life and danger

'Neath affliction's deepest shade.

A father's eye shall never meet thee
With affection's kindly glow,

A father's welcome ne'er shall greet thee,
Baby, in this world of woe.

Death, that parent, friend, did sever
From this widow'd heart of mine;
Quench'd that eye's fond glance forever,
Ere this little life was thine.

Often now the burning tear

From thy mother's eye is streaming,

As she bends, 'twixt joy and fear,

O'er thy infant form so dear;

Thine, the while, serenely beaming,

'Why the tear that dims thine eye,
‘Ah, my mother, tell me, why?'
Not because high heav'n did pour

On me alone that storm of sorrow;
And not because time's fleeting wing
Shall never, on its pinions, bring

To me the long deferr'd tomorrow
Which shall that friend again restore.

*

*

*

*

*

*

But a dangʼrous sea thou'rt crossing;
He, thy guide, to heav'n has gone;
Storms that ocean deep are tossing;-
Baby, thou art all alone.

And, oh! what evils may betide thee?
Treach'rous rocks, and shoals, and snares;
No father's watchful eye to guide thee!

'Tis this that wakes thy mother's tears.

The following lines were added after the death of this child, in 1821

'Tis over; past, forever past, that sea

Of tempest, share and storm, so late my dread.
No more I view thee, darling boy, expos'd,
Unfriended, on that frowning deep, where late
Thy slender little bark first tried its skill.
The angry wave on thee shall beat again
It's foaming billow, never. Nor rock, nor shoal,
Nor whirlpool's fatal eddy, nor the ills
Innumerable which my fancy painted,
Shall ever harm thee more. Safe art thou lodg'd
Beyond the reach of all I felt or fear'd.

Oh! how I fear'd for thee! how truant thought,
Presumptuous, unbelieving as I was,

Would

*

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*

*

ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT SON. WRITTEN IN NOV. 1821.*

Ah! where is he, with the eyes so blue,

And the shining yellow hair,

And the lofty brow, still serenely mild,
And the cheek so angel fair?

Oh, spirit lov'd! who, like vision of light,

Stole across my path, in that fearful night,

When the storm was high, and thy sire far away,

And smil'd through the darkness,-how short was thy stay?

Like fleeting cloud, that by tempest is driven

Athwart the stormy sky,

Or dew-drop that's wept at close of even,
From nature's humid eye.

That cheek was fair; but 'tis deadly pale,
The last living tint has fled;

And the cherish'd form, on this bosom that slept,
In the damp tomb rests its head.

Soon was finish'd thine errand to this distant shore,
And thy mission of love, dearest babe, soon was o'er.
In my soul's saddest hour of distress wert thou given,
To assuage the deep anguish, then vanish to heaven.
Though oblivion's dews settle fast on thee now,

There's one heart shall forget thee, never;
And the stroke that shall end all my sorrows below,
Shall unite us again forever.

* Published in the Boston Recorder of Dec. 8, 1821.

THE END.