Thy children's? Bid some few short years
Fulfill their hasting claims,
Where are they? Ask the mourner's tears,
A stanger in their place appears,
Forgotten are their names,
Their memory like the snow shall melt
From the green hillock's head,
And where they once in plenty dwelt,
Their offspring ask for bread.
But if thy love to God sincere
By love to Man be shown,
By pity's deed, contrition's tear,
Faith in a Saviour's merits dear,
Distrustful of thine own;
If thou hast in thy casket laid
Such treasures rich and free,
Beyond dread Death's oblivious shade,
Look! they shall go with thee.
"REDEEMING THE TIME."
Why break the limits of permitted thought
To revel in Elysium? thou who bear'st
Still the stern yoke of this unresting life,
Its toils, its hazards, and its fears of change?
Why hang thy frost-work wreath on Fancy's brow,
When labor warns thee to thy daily task,
And Faith doth bid thee gird thyself to run
