spared to lift up this benighted nation by the press and by personal contact with the word of God! The following is the last poem that she wrote for the press, and explains itself:
MISS PACKARD'S BIRTHDAY.
This is the holy Sabbath,
The third day of the year,
The birthday of Miss Packard,
Whose memory is dear.
Our Alma Mater, Spelman,
Will celebrate this day,
And we will join in spirit,
Though we're so far away.
Our hearts will always praise Him
That she was ever born to save
The girls of our dear Southland
By ignorance enslaved.
Of all her noble life-work
I need not tell to you;
Seven years we shared together
Her love and care so true.
Alas! our hearts are stricken,
To speak of it gives pain;
We've lost our benefactress,
But O, to her what gain!
We do not mourn as others,
Our hope gives joy and peace,
For we have this assurance:
Her work shall never cease.
Rest on, our weary loved one,
Secure in Jesus' arms;
Earth's sin and toil and trials
Can never do thee harm.
