ESAIAS WARREN, ESQ.
Now dwelling in that narrow house
Where all are doomed to dwell.
And I beheld a new-made grave,
That stood enclosed with one
Which I had often wet with tears-
Thine, Warren!-sire and son!
Alas! that I who sung so late
The patriarch sire's decease,
So soon should raise a requiem
For thee and thy release.
But there ye slumber side by side,
The sainted son and sire;
Like yonder evening's sun ye set—
God's chosen thus expire.
The tenor of your lives the same,
The same in death your peace;
The same salvation winged each soul
To joys that may not cease;
And now with saints of ages past
In paradise ye rest
"Tis God's own word-the dead, who die
In Christ the Lord, are blest.
PRECEDED A SHORT TIME BY THAT OF NATHAN WARREN, ESQ., THE ELDEST OF TWO SONS WHO HAD SURVIVED THEIR
FATHER AND ELDEST BROTHER.
SHE saw her eldest-born go down to dust :
She saw him laid beside his aged sire,
Whom, at brief interval, that son had followed
Down the dark valley of thy shadow, Death!
A little while, and death once more returned,
To knock for entrance at her door:
The eldest of her two surviving sons
Received the awful mandate, and obeyed.
She closed his eyes!-sweet act of piety!
Which, from old time, through each succeeding age,
Hath come to us, still handed down the same,
From our first parents, in fair Eden placed.
Dear, pious duty! which the parent fond,
When at the close of life his eye doth glance,
And run o'er all his final scene of death,
Still loves to view some pious child performing !
It was thy trial, O thou aged saint!
MRS. PHOEBE WARREN.
To close the cold, the glassy, mindless orbs
Of him who should have done that holy deed
For thee. It seemed as if thy lot it were
That Nature should reverse her order—all
Preceding thee, none left to close thine eye!
But Heaven, in whose high court thy prayers and alms Had still gone up-a sweet memorial-closed
Thy Dorcas-life, and called thee home,
To some high mansion in thy Father's house,
While yet thy youngest might bend o'er thy pillow,
And wipe the tear and cool the fevered brow,
And bid farewell till Jesus come once more,
Then close the parent's eye with fiilial hand,
And lay thee with thy dear departed ones!
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARY KNOX.
"In the cold moist earth we laid her, when the forest casts the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a lot so brief;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that young friend of ours,
So gentle and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers."
I WILL ask some gentle angel,
From the regions of the blest,
In some elegy unearthly
To sing thy Christian rest.
Oh! Mary, when thy sun of life
Was beaming beauteously,
The messenger of Jesus came,
From earth to summon thee.
As we gazed upon thy beauty,
The pure heaven of thy heart,
Lo! the cloud of death came o'er thee!
Ah! sad-how sad-to part!
But, Mary, for a little while,
To those who love thee here,
Was thy farewell-thy gentle voice
Shall soothe each dying ear.
To the memory of a young married lady, of whom I had taken leave a few days before, in blooming health, as she stood by the side of my aged and infirm grandmother.
I SAW thee standing at the door,
With her whose days seemed nearly o'er;
Health on thy cheek-youth in thine eye-
Thine all that might e'en death defy.
I looked upon that aged form,
Which long had weathered life's dark storm,
And, as I gazed, it seemed to me,
That I no more that form should see;
For I had come to bid farewell,
And go where duty bade me dwell,
I told my tale, and bade adieu,
As if no more that form to view.
I looked upon that blooming bride,
Who stood in beauty at her side,
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