From my sanctified distresses,
Now, or when thou wilt, receive;
Grant with him in thine embraces,
After all my deaths, to live.

PART III.

Hail, holy, holy, holy Lord,
Mysterious Three in One! 
For ever be thy name adored,
Thy will for ever done.

For this alone on earth I wait,
To glorify my God;
And suffer, since thou will’st, the state
Of sacred widowhood.

And may I, in thy strength, fulfil
My awful character;
And prove thine acceptable will,
And do thy pleasure here;

The children to thyself restore,
Whom thou to me hast given;
And rule my house with all my power,
And train them up for heaven.

Be this my hospitable care: 
The stranger to receive,
The burden of thy church to bear,
And all their wants relieve;

My labor of unwearied love
With pleasure to repeat,
My faith unto thy saints to prove,
And gladly wash their feet.

The servant of thy servants bless
With active earnest zeal;
And every work of righteousness
I shall with joy fulfil.

LINES,

Occasioned by viewing the portrait of Mrs. Graham, prefixed to the
     first edition of her memoir.  By the late Mrs. Margaret Brown,
     daughter of Rev. Dr. John Mason.

While in this faded form I trace
The features which I loved so well,
Remembrance brings each mental grace
Within its hallowed shrine to dwell.

For I have seen that darkened eye
In all the fire of genius roll,
With eagle-gaze explore the sky,
Or with a keener glance descry
The secret workings of the soul.

And I have seen this pallid cheek
Suffused with feeling’s richest glow;
And virtue’s brightest halo deck
With sacred charms these locks of snow.

And on these lips in silence closed,
With rapt attention oft I hung,
And heard those wondrous truths disclosed
Which sages taught or seraphs sung.

And I have known this withered hand
Extended wide the poor to bless;
And this contracted breast expand
With generous schemes to aid distress.

And now, though far removed from earth
And every scene of mortal pain,
This dear memorial of her worth
Shall many a drooping heart sustain.

Still shall it dry the widow’s tear,
The hapless orphan’s want supply,
Guide to a blessed asylum here,
And point to happier realms on high.

My father’s friend—­how poor the praise,
By his unworthy offspring given,
Who thus records, in humble lays,
What angels registered in heaven.

FRANKFORT, Kentucky, August, 1816.

One hundred dollars was paid by John W. Hamersley, Esq. of New
York, towards perpetuating this volume.

The American Tract Society,

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THE RELIGIOUS (OR PASTOR’S) LIBRARY,