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And memory fills my breast:
I hear again thy mild voice sing,
I hear the soft rush of thy wing,
Passing unto its rest.

Again, I see thy lovely eyes

Beaming like stars in cloudless skies,

Lighting me o'er life's sea:

Meek angel of a holy God,

Would that my path of life were trod !

Then for thy home and thee.

THE DYING GIRL.

NOT on my bended knees at night,
Ere sleep upon these eyes descended,
And bowing down in God's own sight,
Mother! our evening prayers ascended,
Closing in peace a day of pain;

O! thus we ne'er shall meet again!—

Not from thy lips shall wisdom come, (Best learned from those we love to

hear)

Teaching thy child the soul's bright home,
Away in some celestial sphere:

Father! I may not now complain;
But thus we ne'er shall meet again! —-*

Not on the lawn with flowers around us, And singing birds upon each tree, Where pleasure in our childhood found us, Sister! shall I disport with thee :

The flowers-the birds-the scenes remain; But there we ne'er shall meet again !

Not in thy boat, upon the river,

O'er which we floated light and free; Not with the arrow, bow, and quiver, Shall I, my Brother! range with thee: O! we were happy!-but 'tis vain— For thus we ne'er shall meet again!

But in the land beyond the grave;
But in the joys we hope to win;
With souls a Saviour died to save,

And, sinless, bore all earthly sin:
O! there amid' a blissful train,

We soon, dear friends, shall meet again!

S. M.

LINES

WRITTEN FOR A COMMEMORATION OF HERVEY, INTENDED TO BE KEPT AT WESTON FAVELL, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE, IN THE SUMMER OF

1833.

BY JAMES EDMESTON.

IF fields which heroism makes her own, Where the bright ranks and flashing sword have shone,

Lead the admiring visitant to gaze,
And call to mind the deeds of other days;
Kindling the soul with sympathetic flame,
At the remembrance of each glorious name;
Surely to him, who views this world aright,
Discerning all things by celestial light,

The field on which the Christian warrior

stood,

And fought the peaceful fight of doing

good,

May warm the heart to feelings deeper

far,

Than all earth's vain and transitory jar.

Adverse alone to sin, and hating none, Save that which hath this beauteous world undone

Sin and its numerous powers-who stand posses'd

Of the high places of the human breast: With these a deadly battle he maintains, Nor rests till frailty dies, and glory reigns. Then, well may memory walk with sacred pride

Where HERVEY flourish'd, and where HERVEY died!

All nature has a voice ;-and he could dwell On the sweet themes our flowery gardens

tell;

Death has a voice ;-and from the tomb the toll

Of the dark page booms warring o'er the

soul:

The heavens possess a voice;-and how sublime

The tale of those bright sentinels of time! Still as they roll, they speak some wondrous word,

No speech or language where they are not heard;

Perfect in measure and in light they shine, And through all nature flows their wondrous line:

The wisdom taught by these would HER

VEY scan,

A write their lessons for his fellow man.

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