No more shalt thou weep o’er thy dear Henry,[3] dead—­
   For now by his side thou art resting thy head;
   Thou now dost behold him in glory above. 
   But Jesus, thy Savior, outvies him in love.

   Transported with joy, with thy Savior at rest,
   Though angels are singing, you’ll praise him the best. 
   Bright glories, unfolding, still burst on thy view—­
   The song thou art chanting will ever be new.

   Thy sun at its zenith on earth ceased to shine,
   But beams with new lustre in regions divine;
   For ages eternal ’t will ever shine on—­
   Still gath’ring new splendor from God’s dazzling throne.

FOOTNOTES: 

   [Footnote 3:  Husband of Mrs. W.]

THOUGHTS

Occasioned by the sudden death of J.W.N.

   The short lived, fragrant, vernal flower,
   Which blooms and withers in an hour,
     With him may well compare;
   His life was like the meteor’s light,
   Which shone and vanished from the sight—­
     Dissolving in the air.

   Not so the thrilling ties that bind
   The loved one’s image to the mind—­
     It lives and brightens there;
   Engraved upon each bleeding heart,
   Which cannot, will not, deign to part
     With such a jewel rare.

REFLECTIONS

Occasioned by the death of S. White, of Livermore,
who died Dec. 25Th, 1842, aged 26.

   Why do these tears bedew our eyes? 
   Why heaves the breast with bursting sighs? 
     We’ve seen a friend depart;
   In vain we tune our harp and sing,
   We cannot touch that thrilling string,
     Which vibrates in the heart.

   Engaging, graceful and refined,
   Frank, open, generous and kind,
     Was our departed friend;
   His mental powers were deep and clear,—­
   His ardent friendship, most sincere,
     With life alone could end.

   His heart could feel for others’ woe—­
   How oft his footsteps, soft and low,
     Fell on the suff’rer’s ear! 
   Each word he spake, their grief to quell,
   Seemed waters gushing from a well,
     Whose fount was deep and clear.

   In early years he mourned for sin,
   And prayed for garments white and clean,
     Washed in the Savior’s blood. 
   He journeyed on for many years,
   Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears,
     But found a pard’ning God.

   His lustrous eyes are dim in death,
   His voice passed like the zephyr’s breath,
     That heart has lost its lone;
   But while we weep around his dust,
   That soul its prison doors hath burst,
     And worships ’round the throne.

   But shall we murmur and complain? 
   Shall our warm tears descend like rain
     Around his early grave? 
   While kindred dear must weep and mourn,
   More sacred tears bedew his urn
     Than ever friendship gave.