SUNG ON A WEDDING OCCASION, AUGUST 1ST, 1847

O 'tis an interesting sight,
When youthful hands and hearts unite!
The Lord himself was pleas'd to own
That man should never dwell alone.

A rib he took from Adam's side,
And from it made a blooming bride;
In Eden's bowers he placed the pair,—
Then joined their hands in wedlock there.

The nuptial ties by God were bound,
While angels chanted anthems 'round;
Then mounting on swift pinions sang,
Till heaven's high arch with music rang.

The Lord is present still to hear,—
The words you breathed have reached his ear;
And his recording angel, now,
Is writing down the marriage vow.

Wilt thou, the bridegroom, till the end,
Still prove the fair one's faithful friend,
Who leaves her childhood's happy home,
With thee through future life to roam?

She trusts her fragile bark with thee,—
O steer it well o'er life's rough sea.
And with an undivided heart,
Wilt thou, fair maiden, act thy part?

As pure let thine affections be,
As those white robes now worn by thee;
O keep the sacred holy trust,
Till these fair forms turn back to dust.

On seraph wings then may you soar,
Where friends are never parted more;
There with the Lord may each reside,
And Jesus own you as his bride.

LINES

WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF MISS ELLEN N ... OF JAY.

ADDRESSED TO HER RELATIVES.

Ye gaze upon that fair young brow,
Where death's pale shade is resting now;—
Well, well may grief suffuse your eyes,—
Yet let no murm'ring thought arise,
To stain with guilt affection's tear,
Which falls upon the loved one's bier.
Tears are the antidote of grief,—
Kind nature sends them for relief.
While death a prisoner Lazarus kept,
The Son of God stood by and wept;—
And, father, here are tears for thee,
The babe that prattled on thy knee,
And grew in beauty by thy side,
Till warm affection's glowing tide
Gushed from the fountain in thy breast,
To cherish her who made thee blest.
But now, to thee no more appears
This light of thy declining years;
No more her smile brings joy to thee,
When tempest toss'd on life's rough sea.
Fond mother, where's the rosy child
Which once upon thy bosom smiled?—
In her thou daily didst rejoice,—
She caught her language from thy voice;
When she had learned to lisp thy name,
New love with those sweet accents came.
Soon did this bud of promise bloom,
But oh, it blossomed for the tomb!—
Each art, which thy fond care has tried,
The fell destroyer's power defied.
And brothers, ye, too, weeping stand—
Pale death has robbed your household band
Well may stern manhood melt in tears,
The playmate of your early years
Before you lies in death's cold sleep—
'Tis manly, then, for you to weep.
No more will little Walter share
Her love, her counsel, and her care;
And thou, lone sister, now must feel
What simple words can ne'er reveal;—
Thou callest many sister yet,
In tones which they will ne'er forget;
Yet no such love their bosoms fill,
As throbbed in that which now lies still.
You oft, in love, each other greet,
But no such melting glances meet,
As ever have been wont to shine,
When Ellen's speaking eyes met thine.
Those eyes, which such pure love revealed,
In death's deep slumbers now are sealed;
But I have watched the cloud that fades,
While earth was wrapped in twilight shades,
And quickly found the loss repaid
By beauties which the heavens displayed;
Anon, a sweet and pensive light
Came stealing o'er the brow of night,—
The stars shone out from depths profound,
Like bands of angels hov'ring round,
Who look from off each lofty seat,
To watch lest snares beguile our feet.
Though this was airy fancy's dream,
Yet still it doth an emblem seem,
Of her who lies before us now
With such calm beauty on her brow.
Death's icy fingers plucked the rose,
But could not steal the grand repose
Which adds such pure, celestial charms
To this pale form, clasped in his arras.
Though fancy far from reason strayed,
When stars were guardian angels made,
Yet she, perchance, is one indeed:
The spirit, from its bondage freed,
May still be hov'ring, while they sleep,
Around those friends who o'er her weep.

AN EPITAPH

Composed For Mrs. M.G.M. of Jay.

"We lay her in the earth, and from her fair
And unpolluted flesh may violets spring."
Shakspeare.
With flowing tears, dear cherished one,
We lay thee with the dead;
And flowers, which thou didst love so well,
Shall wave above thy head.

Sweet emblems of thy dearer self,
They find a wintry tomb;
And at the south wind's gentle touch,
Spring forth to life and bloom.

Thus, when the sun