His faithfulness such, so true-hearted was he, That love in return could not be denied; As one of the family—­he soon ceased to be The stranger, who lately for work had applied.

Youth passed into manhood, and with it there came
New duties to fill, new plans to pursue;
But a fatal disease now seizes his frame,
And with health is his strength fast leaving him too.

From his home in the country to the city he went,
Where kind brothers procured him good medical aid;
But all was in vain—­Death commissioned was sent,
And soon his remains in the cold grave were laid.

The broad waves of Atlantic lie rolling between
His brothers and sisters and parents on earth;
And never by parents may those children be seen,
Or the latter revisit the land of their birth.

But sooner or later they all must be borne
To that region of darkness from whence none return;
Oh! then may they meet on Canaan’s bright shore,
An unbroken household to part nevermore.

Weston, Jan. 1852.

MY S.S.  CLASS.

I now will endeavor, while fresh in my mind,
My Sabbath School Class to portray;
The theme’s furnished for me, I’ve only to find
Colors to blend, their forms to display.

And first on the canvass we’ll Adeline place,
With her full and expressive dark eye;
Decision of purpose is stamped on that face,
And good scholarship too we descry.

Next in order comes Alice, with bright sunny smile,
That does one’s heart good to behold;
May the sorrows of life ne’er that young spirit blight,
Nor that heart be less cheerful when old.

But who’s this that we see, with that mild pensive air,
And a look so expressively kind? 
It is Ann, gentle Ann, before whom we pass by,
We will add—­’t would be useless in any to try
Disposition more lovely to find.

The next is a bright noble face we espy,
’Tis a boy of ten years we shall find;
There’s a spice of the rogue in that merry young eye,
With good sense and good nature combined.

It’s young master Alpheus—­we never have found
One more punctual at school hour than he;
He’s now but a lad, yet who knows when a man,
But a Judge in our land he may be.

Next comes little Moggy, our dear little Moggy,
But before she is brought out to view,
We’ll new colors select, add fresh tints to the whole,
And spread all on our pallet anew.

And now she appears in her own proper size,
Her cheeks colored by nature’s warm glow;
With her full lustrous and speaking black eyes,
And rich ringlets that grace her young brow.

Walter’s the last on the painting we see,
Little Walter, the youngest of all;
Look! he’s repeating his lesson just now,
Mark the expression on that infant brow,
He’s a wonder, for scholar so small.