Thy mission is a holy one: 
    Thy honor’d husband stands
  A watchman upon Zion’s walls,
    Its standard in his hands.

  ’Tis thine to aid the glorious work,
    Thy ransom’d soul may tell
  The wonders of a Saviour’s love,
    Who “doeth all things well.”

  Press onward in thy heav’nly task,
    And drink in full supplies
  From free Salvation’s living springs,
    That in the gospel rise.

  God speed thee, sister, on thy way;
    May many souls be giv’n
  In answer to thy fervent prayers,
    To form thy crown in heav’n.

Lines, To Mrs. S——­, On the Death of Her Son, Who Died March, 1854.

  Smooth gently back the silken hair,
    From off the death-damp brow;
  Life’s feeble struggles all are o’er,—­
    Free is that spirit now.

  Mother, no more those anxious eyes
    Will seek thy loving face;
  That little, pulseless, marble form,
    Heeds not thy fond embrace.

  Fold the hands lightly on his breast,
    And close his weary eyes,
  Then gently seek the place of rest,
    Where his sweet sister lies.

  And place their coffins side by side,
    Within the narrow tomb. 
  Sweetly, the gentle Saviour said,
    “To me, let children come.”

  Then bring pure buds of snowy white,
    And strew them by their side,
  Meet emblems, these, of their frail lives,—­
    That in the blooming—­died.

  They lov’d each other while on earth,
    And now a purer love
  Than earth can give, shall elevate
    Their intercourse above.

  Three cherubs now, before the throne,
    Join in the anthem sweet;
  Perchance, it lack’d thy Linnae’s voice,
    To make that song complete.

  Thou hast a trio angel band,
    In heaven’s high court above;—­
  There Freddie, Lizzie, Linnae stand,
    Before a God of love.

  Thou soon must join that angel band,
    For earthly must decay;
  Thy children from the spirit land,
    Seem beck’ning thee away.

  And now a threefold golden cord,
    Has unto thee been given,
  Gently to draw thy trusting heart
    Away from earth to heaven.

  And though mysterious are God’s ways—­
    His promises are sure;
  Earth no affliction has so deep,
    “That heaven cannot cure.”

  And though so dark appears the cloud—­
    Its silver lining, see;
  The Sun of Righteousness there sheds
    His healing beams for thee.

  Thou hast one jewell’d casket yet—­
    Thy Eddie still remains;
  O, may a dying Saviour’s blood
    Cleanse all his guilty stains.

  That he may be prepared to go,
    When Christ shall bid him come,
  And join that glittering, angel band,
    In their eternal home.

  Then when the last loud trump shall sound,
    And wake the sleeping dead;
  Thy family shall all be found,
    With Christ, their Living Head.