ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER.

"TIS o'er!-in that long sigh she pass'd: Th' enfranchised spirit soars at last!

And now I gaze

with tearless eye

On what to view was agony.

That panting heart is tranquil now,
And heavenly calm that ruffled brow;
And those pale lips which feebly strove
To force one parting smile of love,
Retain it yet-soft, placid, mild,
As when it graced my living child!

Oh! I have watch'd with fondest care
To see my opening floweret blow,
And felt the joys which parents share—
The pride which fathers only know.

And I have sat the long, long night,

And mark'd that tender flower decay—

Not torn abruptly from the sight,

But slowly, sadly, waste away!

The spoiler came, yet paused, as though

So meek a victim check'd his arm— Half gave and half withheld the blow,

As forced to strike, yet loath to harm.

We saw that fair cheek's fading bloom
The ceaseless canker-worm consume,
And gazed on hopelessly;

Till the mute suffering pictured there
Wrung from a father's lip the prayer,
Oh, God!-the prayer his child might die!

Ay, from his lip! the rebel heart
E'en then refused to bear its part.

But the sad conflict's past-'tis o'er !
That gentle bosom throbs no more!
The spirit's freed: through realms of light
Faith's eagle glance pursues her flight
To other worlds, to happier skies.

Hope dries the tear which sorrow weepeth; No mortal sound the voice which cries,

"The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth!"

THE MARTYRS.

MRS ABDY.

Он, when we read the lives of those
Who suffer'd for the faith-
Their thorny path, their cruel foes,
Their sharp and bitter death,-
Should we not hold as empty dross
Man's favour or his frown,

So we might bear the martyr's cross,
And share the martyr's crown?

We are not now by duty led
Such perils to partake;

In days like these we need not dread

The faggot and the stake:

Alas! if to the trial call'd,

How soon might fade our boast! And those in words the least appall'd, In deeds might fail the most!

Yet in the calm appointed course
Of every passing hour,

May Christian zeal display its force,

And Christian faith its power;

Yes! persecution still can aim
Its keen envenom'd dart,

Molesting not the outward frame,
But striking on the heart.

The world shall ever chide and mock
The path by Christians trod;
Contempt shall chill, reproach shall shock
The chosen ones of God:

And those who to thy will have bow'd,
O Lord! in holy awe,

Shall meet derision from the proud,
Because they keep thy law.

The martyrs suffer'd cruel pain,
By enemies oppress'd,

But we our trials may sustain

From those we love the best;

Fond friends may strive our wavering hearts
From peace and heaven to win,
And with enticing, stealing arts,
Lure us to death and sin.

Yet if in true religion's cause
Our faith we still proclaim,
Regarding not the world's applause,
Nor shrinking from its blame;
If on deep prayer and fervent love

Our proofs of zeal we rest,

Will not the Lord our truth approve
Without a fiery test?

H

Few, by a mighty conflict tried, Their courage may display; Yet all may hope, revere, confide, Love, suffer, and obey:

And God will in a better land

Receive them as his own,

To join the glorious martyr band

Who stand around his throne.