Farewell, December; ere in frowns again
Thou reign'st, the empress of the howling storm,
Perchance this bosom, free from secret pain,
Shall rest in quiet.-This unconscious form
Shall pillow sweetly on its lowly bed,
And know of grief no more.-O it is sweet,
When gently called by an approving God,
On yonder peaceful shore to rest our weary feet.

1820.

STANZAS TO

Yes, it is sweet to contemplate
The awful, pleasing hour,
When yielding to relentless fate,

We own death's iron power.

'Tis sweet to rest the aching head
In yonder, peaceful tomb,

Where the tall grass, around the bed,
Luxuriantly doth bloom.

And O when by the world forgot,

I sleep unconscious there,

Will not some wild flower deck the spot, Nourished by friendship's tear?

Sweeter will this cold bosom rest,
If prized in memory;

Lighter the clod upon my breast,
Bedewed, dear girl, by thee.

THE FINAL HOUR.

FAREWELL to a world of pain,
Sorrow, sighing, now adieu!
Scenes of toil, of labor vain,
Scenes of pleasure all untrue.

Farewell to a vale of Wo,
Chequered with the tear and smile;
Pains that bade keen sorrows flow,
Hopes that dazzled to beguile.

Earth, receive me to thy arms,
Grave, unveil thy kindly breast;
Dissipate, ye fond alarms;
Glad, the weary sinks to rest.

Severed now are mortal ties,
Ties so tender, once so dear;
Holier transports, kindling, rise,
Soon the worm will banquet here.

Saviour, while all else recedes,
Thy dear image still I see;
Yes, the same that intercedes,
Pleads for sinners, pleads for me.

Nearer as I view the throne,
God! my trust, I love thee more;
Thou my portion art alone,
Help, O help me to adore.

VERSES,

ON VIEWING THE ANCIENT PEAR TREE, IN T— STREET, PHILADELPHIA, IMPORTED FROM HOLLAND, 1647.

THOU ancient tree,

Survivor of the storm,

How dear to me

Thy venerable form,

The blast of years

Hath strewed the neighbouring soil,

While thou surviv'st

The whirlwind's angry spoil.

Long hast thou flourish'd,

Liberal of richest fruit;

While various soils have nourish'd

Thy healthy root.

From Holland's moistened clime

Our fathers bore the prize,

In early time

To thrive 'neath western skies.