Though life hath been to me
A scene of joy and love,
And sweet affections round my heart
Unchanging garlands wove,
Though knowledge in its power
At studious midnight came,
Enkindling in my raptur'd mind,
A bright, unwavering flame;
Yet dearer far than all,
Was Heaven's celestial lore:
Then come, belov'd and youthful train,
Who hear my voice no more,
Come, sing the hymn I taught,
Here, by my lowly bed,
And with your Sabbath-lessons blend
Sweet memory of the dead.
"He gathereth the lambs with his arm, and carrieth them in his bosom."—Isaiah.
On the death of a member of the Infant School.
Lamb! in a clime of verdure,
Thy favored lot was cast,
No serpent 'mid thy flow'ry food,
Upon thy fold no blast,—
Thine were the chrystal fountains,
And thine a cloudless sky,
Amid thy sports a star of love
Thy playmate brother's eye.
