• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Preface
 The snow-drop
 My birth place
 The oak and the rill
 Moral
 Hymn for a donation gathering
 The marriage vows
 Lines on the death of Ellen N.
 An epitaph
 Lines on the death of Reuben, Peleg...
 The rose and lilac tree
 Lines on the death of Mrs....
 Thoughts on the sudden death of...
 Reflections on the death of S....
 The sister's lament
 Lines on a lock of hair
 Lines on the last hours of Mrs....
 Judson's grave
 Lines on baptismal occasion
 The inquiry
 There is joy in heaven
 Jephthah's vow
 Like a lost sheep
 And the vail of the temple was...
 Lines to a long absent relativ...
 Lines to the wife of the above
 Come home to New England
 A sister's departure
 A sister's counsel
 Lines to a friend on parting
 Farewell to a brother
 To W. H. D, an adopted brother
 Lines to a friend in afflictio...
 Lines to a sister
 To my brother
 My brother in the tempest
 Lines to an absent sister
 A morning scene on a sister's wedding...
 To the Whippowil
 My harp is on the willows hung,...
 To a sister, while dangerously...
 The invalid's dream
 To a butterfly in my chamber
 To the "wild flower"
 The minister at the family...
 An appeal for Ireland
 The little cloud
 Lewiston, as it was, and as it...
 Twilight musings
 To Amelia
 Moonlight musings
 Thoughts on a petunia
 To a white hollyhock
 Lines on the miniature of a pair...
 The cultivation of flowers
 Music of the mind
 Appendix
 Table of Contents
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: The snow drop : a holiday gift
Title: The snow drop
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00001888/00001
 Material Information
Title: The snow drop a holiday gift
Alternate Title: Snow drop
Physical Description: 160 p. : ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Mower, Sarah S
Masters, Smith & Co
Publisher: Masters, Smith
Place of Publication: Hallowell Me.
Publication Date: 1851
 Subjects
Subject: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1851   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1851
Genre: Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
poetry   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Maine -- Hallowell
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: by Miss Sarah S. Mower.
General Note: Poems.
Funding: Brittle Books Program
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00001888
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002234680
oclc - 20292049
notis - ALH5116
 Related Items
Other version: Alternate version (PALMM)
PALMM Version

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Preface
        Page 3
        Page 4
    The snow-drop
        Page 5
        Page 6
    My birth place
        Page 7
        Page 8
    The oak and the rill
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Moral
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
    Hymn for a donation gathering
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
    The marriage vows
        Page 21
        Page 22
    Lines on the death of Ellen N.
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    An epitaph
        Page 26
    Lines on the death of Reuben, Peleg B., Charles, Susan, and Mary A. Wing
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    The rose and lilac tree
        Page 36
        Page 37
    Lines on the death of Mrs. West
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Thoughts on the sudden death of J. W. N.
        Page 40
    Reflections on the death of S. White
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    The sister's lament
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
    Lines on a lock of hair
        Page 50
    Lines on the last hours of Mrs. Sarah Judson
        Page 51
        Page 52
    Judson's grave
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
    Lines on baptismal occasion
        Page 56
        Page 57
    The inquiry
        Page 58
    There is joy in heaven
        Page 59
    Jephthah's vow
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Like a lost sheep
        Page 62
    And the vail of the temple was rent in twain
        Page 63
    Lines to a long absent relative
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Lines to the wife of the above
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Come home to New England
        Page 70
        Page 71
    A sister's departure
        Page 72
    A sister's counsel
        Page 73
        Page 74
    Lines to a friend on parting
        Page 75
    Farewell to a brother
        Page 76
    To W. H. D, an adopted brother
        Page 77
        Page 78
    Lines to a friend in affliction
        Page 79
    Lines to a sister
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
    To my brother
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    My brother in the tempest
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Lines to an absent sister
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
    A morning scene on a sister's wedding day
        Page 93
    To the Whippowil
        Page 94
        Page 95
    My harp is on the willows hung, and the strings all out of tune
        Page 96
        Page 97
    To a sister, while dangerously ill
        Page 98
    The invalid's dream
        Page 99
    To a butterfly in my chamber
        Page 100
        Page 101
    To the "wild flower"
        Page 102
        Page 103
    The minister at the family altar
        Page 104
    An appeal for Ireland
        Page 105
        Page 106
    The little cloud
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Lewiston, as it was, and as it is
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
    Twilight musings
        Page 113
        Page 114
    To Amelia
        Page 115
        Page 116
    Moonlight musings
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Thoughts on a petunia
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    To a white hollyhock
        Page 122
    Lines on the miniature of a pair of twin boys
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
    The cultivation of flowers
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
    Music of the mind
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Appendix
        Page 141
        Praises of rural life
            Page 141
            Page 142
            Page 143
            Page 144
            Page 145
        Ode to Sarah
            Page 146
            Page 147
            Page 148
        An epistle to Jere, in answer to his ode
            Page 149
            Page 150
            Page 151
        Neighbors' advice to invalids
            Page 152
            Page 153
            Page 154
            Page 155
            Page 156
            Page 157
            Page 158
    Table of Contents
        Page 159
        Page 160
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text








T H I'll
s N IV- 1) R 0 1?







THE


SNOW-DROP;



A HOLIDAY GIFT.



BY



Miss SARAH S. MOWER.








HALLOWELL:
MASTERS, SMITH & CO., PRINTERS.
1851.







*

















ENTE~mE according to Act of Congress, in the year
1851, by Miss SARAH S. MowER, in the Clerk's Ofice of
the District Court of Maine.










PREFACE.


THE Authoress of "THE SNOW-DROP" has
been misfortune's child. Disease laid its re-
lentless hand upon her in early childhood.
It deprived her of a common school educa-
tion and the world's sweet intercourse. Such
has been its nature, that, except on one oc-
casion, she has not been able to leave home
for more than six years.
"THE SNOW-DROP" would never have ap-
peared had not life's wintry hour given it
birth! It was written to beguile tedious time.
Winds, as they played through groves that
surround her aged father's retired and humble
dwelling, sweet songsters, as they caroled
from spray to spray, and the ripple of the
Androscoggin, as it glided past, to her ear,






PREFACE.


were nature's sweet minstrels, that cheered
her heart in solitude and inspired her, too,
to attempt the artless strains of nature.
This little work, at the suggestion of her
friends, is presented and dedicated to the
benevolent public, humbly hoping and trust-
ing that it may give pastime to the leisure
,hour, impress more fully moral and religious
sentiment, and afford some little return for
the thought she has bestowed upon it.











THE SNOW-DROP.*




SWEET little unassuming flower,
It stays not for an April shower,
But dares to rear its tiny head,
While threatening clouds the skies o'erspread.

It ne'er displays the vain desire
To dress in flaunting gay attire;
No purple, scarlet, blue, or gold,
Deck its fair leaves when they unfold.

Born on a cold and wintry night,
Its flowing robes were snowy white;
No vernal zephyrs fan its form -
It often :l.:til-.; with the storm.

A white, fragrant flower, the earliest that appears. -
Language. I am not a summer friend."
1*






THE SNOW-DROP.


It never drank mild summer's dew,
Bit chilling winds around it blew;
And hoary frost his mantle spread
Upon the little snow-drop's bed.

I love this modest little flower; --
It comes in desolation's hour
The barren landscape's face to cheer,
*When none beside it dares appear.

Just like the friend, whose brightest smile
Is spared, our sorrows to beguile;
Who like some angel from the sky,
When needed most, is ever nigh -

To pluck vile slander's envious dart
From out the wounded, bleeding heart,
And raise from earth the drooping head
When all our summer friends are fled.

And shall these humble pages dare
Presume to ask, if they compare
With that fair, fragrant, precious gem,
Plucked from cold winter's diadem ?






THE SNOW-DROP.


'Tis true both struggled into life,
Through scenes of sorrow, care and strife ;
This poor, frail, intellectual flower
Was reared in no elysian bower.

No ray of fortune on it shone, -
It forced its weary way alone;
Up-springing from the barren sod,
Untilled, save by affliction's rod.




MY BIRTH PLACE.

Where "old Blue" mountain's healthful breeze
Swept o'er the green hill-side,
My little fragile bark was launched
On life's uncertain tide.

There verdant fields and murm'ring brooks
Invited me to roam;
Old towering trees their heads upreared
Around my quiet home.






THE SNOW-DROP.


When morn unveiled her blushing face,
The sun came peeping in;
His quivering beams upon the wall,
Checked by the leafy screen.

Oft in some sweet sequestered dell,
The blushing flow'ret smiled;
And threw around a pleasing spell,
For me, an artless child.

The fragrant blossom peeping up,
From out the mossy sod,
Caused my young thoughts from earth to rise
And soar to nature's God.

In summer, when I wandered forth,
Beneath the deep green shade,
Or when mild autumn walked the rounds,
In gorgeous robes arrayed -

Music, in nature's softest strains,
Stole through my little breast; -
'Twas something I could not define,
Nor could it be expressed.






THE SNOW-DROP. 9

While some admire the pompous pile,
Or .litl'riii, costly dome,
I'd gaze upon those aricient trees,
'Round that sweet rural home.




THE OAK AND THE RILL:
OR, INDOLENT WEALTH AND HONEST LABOR.

COMPOSED FORt THE FRANKLIN AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY.

To find employment for my pen,
I wandered from the haunts of men,
And sought a little rising ground,
With lofty oaks and elm trees crowned,
Where I might court the friendly muse,
Who ever thinks herself abused
When woo'd 'midst tumult, noise and strife,
And all the busy cares of life.
With senses quite absorbed in thought,
While all beside seemed half forgot,
I wandered on till I had strayed
Beneath an oak tree's ample shade,






THE SNOW.DROP.


Whose lofty top towered up so high,
It seemed aspiring for the sky.
Just at the basement of the hill,
A modest little purling rill
Shone like a mirror in the sun, -
Flashing and sparkling as it run.
The lofty oak scarce deigned to look
Upon the little murm'ring brook,
But tossed his head in proud disdain,
And thus began his boasting strain: -
" I've lived almost since time began,
The friend and favorite of man;
Since I became a stately tree, -
Cradled within my branches, lay
The young pappoose, who gayly smiled,
And listened to the music wild
That floated round his tiny head,
While through my top the breezes played.
In after years to me he came,
When wearied in pursuit of game;
He from my branches plucked his bow,
To slay the deer and buffalo;
Here, with his friends, he'd often meet
To sing the war-song, dance, and eat.






THE SNOW-DROP.


'Twas here he woo'd the dark-eyed maid,
And built his wigwam in my shade;
To me he brought his youthful bride,
And dwelt here till with age he died.
His children thought no place more meet
To make his grave than at my feet;
They said wouldd greatly soothe their woes
If I would let him here repose;
Then begged that I would deign to wave
My verdant branches o'er his grave.
And since the polished white man came,
He 's loved and honored me the same;
Though all the neighboring trees around
Were slain, as cumberers of the ground,
Yet here I tower in grandeur still, -
The pride and glory of the hill.
My dauntless spirits never quail
At earthquakes, hurricanes, or hail;
The rolling thunder's fiery car
Has never dared my form to mar;
I've heard its rumbling undismayed,
While forked lightning round me played;
But O, thou little murm'ring brook, *
How mean and meager is thy look; -






114 THE SNOW-DROP.

Babbling, babbling, all day long,-
How I detest thy simple song.
I would not have thee in my sight,
Did not all nobles claim a right
To keep some menial servant near,
And therefore 'tis that thou art here.
As I am always very neat,
I'll deign to let thee wash my feet;
Such work becomes one in thy place, -
To drudge for me is no disgrace."
The spirit of the brook was stirred,
But still her voice had not been heard,
Had not a zephyr, liirg'rinL round,
In friendly mood, caught up the sound,
And fl\in. round the monarch's head,
Br':latied in his ear the words she said.
The streamlet, with a deep drawn sigh,
In silv'ry tones, made this reply:
"Illustrious oak, pray deign to hear,
'Twill not di.-r'ace thee none are near,
And I this once a word would say,
As I am w\,nii(ir on my way; -
Behold that path wind through the grass,
Where many by thee daily pass;






THE SNOW-DROP.


See, where it ends, just on my brink,
Then frankly tell what thou dost think.
Both man and beast, when they are dry,
Come here and find a rich supply;
And many come for pleasure too,
When they have nothing else to do.
Bright pebbles in my waters lie,
Which have a charm in childhood's eye;
And little children stray from home,
Upon my sunny shores to roam; -
Wal i me they play their artless pranks,
And gather flowers along my banks; -
Sweet flowers that shun thy gloomy shade,
And hither come to ask my aid.
The poet loves my "simple song"-
With me he often tarries long ;
He tells me that he wanders here,
To catch some new and bright idea,
Which makes his tuneful numbers roll,
In music that enchants the soul.
And people too of every class,
Come here their leisure hours to pass;
I often feel the warm embrace
Of ruby lips upon my face,






THE SNOW-DROP.


For those who never bend the knee
To haughty monarchs, just like thee,
Will fall down prostrate at my side,
And kiss the face thou dost deride.
Thou sayest, thou art very neat,
And I, the slave to wash thy feet!
Should all the streamlets cease to flow,
Not one on earth could e'er be so.
Our strength propels the busy mills,
And all the land with plenty fills,-
They bring, some silver--others gold-
And shield the poor from winter's cold.
The vapors, which from us ascend,
To vegetation are a friend; -
In dew they soon descend again,
Or fall in fruitful showers of rain.
Were there no brooks, there 'd be no bread -
Then tell me, how could man be fed?
No man, nor beast, or plant, or flower,
Without us could survive an hour; -
The feathered songsters of the grove,
Would cease to chant their notes of love.
Earth would become a scene of gloom -
One vast extended direful tomb, -






THE SNOWDROP.


And I must tell thee, ere I go,
That thy proud head would soon lie low, -
Thou 'dst fade and wither, droop and die,
And in the dust neglected lie.
Yet still no praise belongs to me-
I do not sympathize with thee;
I never can be proud and vain,
And imitate thy boasting strain;
But humbly on my way I'll plod,
For I receive my strength from God."

MORAL.
These farmers and mechanics, here,
Much like the little brook appear;
Reared 'midst fair Franklin's hills and dells,
Where proud ambition seldom dwells;
They view their hands for labor made,
And think that God should be obeyed;
Then grasp the plough and till the soil-
It yields rich fruit, and corn, and oil,
By which the multitude are fed,
And blessings o'er the land are spread.
Mechanics next should take a stand
Beside the yeoman of our land;





THE SNOW-DROP.


Where'er enlightened men are found,
They 're showering blessings all around.
Yet time would fail should I rehearse
Their brave exploits, in simple verse;
But there's a class, (I hope not here,)
Who, like the boasting oak, appear;
They think their hands were never made
To wield the distaff, plough, or spade; -
Their taper fingers, soft and fair,
Are made to twine their silken hair,
Or place upon a brow of snow,
Their gold and diamond rings, to show.
Their dainty lips can sip ice-cream,
Or open with convulsive scream,
Whene'er they meet the farmer's cow,
The ox, or steer, which draws the plough.
Should the mechanic's labor cease,
'Twould wound their pride -destroy their
peace;
Their flaunting garments, light and frail,
Would quickly fade, wear out and fail.
Soon, soon, they 'd come with humbled pride,
To him whom they could once deride,







THE SNOW-DROP.


To ask a shelter from the storm,
And clothes to keep their bodies warm.
Should farmers their rich stores withhold,
Their lily hands would soon grow cold; -
No more their lips would curl with scorn,
At him who grows and brings them corn;-
You 'd see them kneeling at his feet,
To beg for something more to eat;
And plead with him their lives to save,
And snatch them from an opening grave.

Now let us, like the little brook
We've heard of in the fable,
Employ our hearts, our heads and hands,
In doing what we 're able;
Till all Columbia praise our deeds,
And nations, o'er the waters,
Will tune their harps and chant their song,
For Franklin's sons and daughters.






THE SNOW-DROP.


A HIYMN.

COMPOSED FOR A DONATION GATHERING.

THE armies of Isr'el round Mount Sinai
stood,
And heard, 'midst its thunders, the voice of
their God ;
All silent and awe-struck they heard the
command -
" Bring unto the Lord the first fruits of your
land."


These words are as sacred, their import the
same -
As when they came pealing through Sinai's
dread flame, -
The banner of Jesus should soon be unfurled,
And waving in triumph all over the world.


Salvation's glad tidings! Oh send them
abroad!
And tell the poor pagan that there is a God !







THE SNOW-DROP. 19

Let those who are toiling in dark heathen
lands,
Find christians all ready to strengthen their
hands.

Yet let not your gifts and your offerings all
roam ; -
Remember the servant of Jesus at home;
He 's spending his strength and his life in the
cause, -
From wells of salvation pure water he draws.

The wells are our Father's, but still they 're so
deep,
That shepherds are needed to water the sheep;
And shall they thus labor and toil for our
good,
And we not supply them with clothing and
food?

How can we still hope that our souls are
new born,
And muzzle the oxen which tread out the
corn !-






THE SNOW-DROP.


Did God care for oxen, or did he say thus,
Designing to give some instruction to us ?

St. Paul has explained it and told what to
do -
"Who preaches the gospel must live of it too;"
Some say, were we able we 'd give with
delight;
But think of the widow who cast in her mite!

What though we 've no money to pamper our
pride,
She kept not a penny for wants unsupplied;
Yet Jesus beheld her and sanction'd the deed,
And promised in future to shield her from need.

Cast your bread on the waters; obey the com-
mand, -
The Lord will restore it; His promise will
stand;
Who give unto these, in the name of the Lord,
A cup of cold water, shall have their reward.






THE SNOW-DROP.


THE MARRIAGE VOWS.
COMPOSED TO BE SUNG ON A WEDDING OCCASION,
AUGUST 1ST, 1847.
0 'tis an interesting sight,
When youthful hands and hearts unite !
The Lord himself was pleas'd to own
That man should never dwell alone.

A rib he took from Adam's side,
And from it made a blooming bride;
In Eden's bowers he placed the pair, -
Then joined their hands in wedlock there.

The nuptial ties by God were bound,
While angels chanted anthems 'round;
Then mounting on swift pinions sang,
Till heaven's high arch with music rang.

The Lord is present still to hear, -
The words you breathed have reached his ear;
And his recording angel, now,
Is writing down the marriage vow.





THE SNOW-DROP.


Wilt thou, the bridegroom, till the end,
Still prove the fair one's faithful friend,
Who leaves her childhood's happy home,
With thee through future life to roam?

She trusts her fragile bark with thee, -
0 steer it well o'er life's rough sea.
And with an undivided heart,
Wilt thou, fair maiden, act thy part ?

As pure let thine affections be,
As those white robes now worn by thee;
O keep the sacred holy trust,
Till these fair forms turn back to dust.

On seraph wings then may you soar,
IWhere friends are never parted more;
There with the Lord may each reside,
And Jesus own you as his bride.
*







THE SNOW-DROP.


LINES
WRITTEN UPON THE DEATH OF MISS ELLEN N....
OF JAY.
ADDRESSED TO HER RELATIVES.
YE gaze upon that fair young brow,
Where death's pale shade is resting now; -
Well, well may grief suffuse your eyes,-
Yet let no murm'ring thought arise,
To stain with guilt affection's tear,
Which falls upon the loved one's*bier.
Tears are the antidote of grief, -
Kind nature sends them for relief.
While death a prisoner Lazarus kept,
The Son of God stood by and wept; -
And, father, here are tears for thee,
The babe that prattled on thy knee,
And grew in beauty by thy side,
Till warm affection's glowing tide
Gushed from the fountain in thy breast,
To cherish her who made thee blest.
But now, to thee no more appears
This light of thy declining years;





W-* THE SNOW-DROP.

No more her smile brings joy to thee,
When tempest toss'd on life's rough sea.
Fond mother, where 's the rosy child
Which once upon thy bosom smiled ? -
In her thou daily didst rejoice, -
She caught her language from thy voice;
When she had learned to lisp thy name,
New love with those sweet accents came.
Soon did this bud of promise bloom,
But oh, it blossomed for the tomb!-
Each art, which thy fond care has tried,
The fell destroyer's power defied.
And brothels, ye, too, weeping stand -
Pale death has robbed your household band
Well may stern manhood melt in tears,
The playmate of your early years
Before you lies in death's cold sleep -
'Tis manly, then, for you to weep.
No more will little Walter share
Her love, her counsel, and her care;
And thou, lone sister, now must feel
What simple words can ne'er reveal; -
Thou callest many sister yet,
In tones which they will ne'er forget;






THE SNOW-DROP.


Yet no such love their bosoms fill,
As throbbed in that which now lies stifl.
You oft, in love, each other greet,
But no such melting glances meet,
As ever have been wont to shine,
When Ellen's speaking eyes met thine.
Those eyes, which such pure love revealed,
In death's deep slumbers now are sealed;
But I have watched the cloud that fades,
While earth was wrapped in twilight shades,
And quickly found the loss repaid
By beauties which the heavens displayed;
Anon, a sweet and pensive light
Came stealing o'er the brow of night, -
The stars shone out from depths profound,
Like bands of angels hov'ring round,
Who look from off each lofty seat,
To watch lest snares beguile our feet.
Though this was airy fancy's dream,
Yet still it doth an emblem seem,
Of her who lies before us now
With such calm beauty on her brow.
Death's icy fingers plucked the rose, 4
But could not steal the grand repose





0V THE SNOW-DROP.

Which adds such pure, celestial charms
To this pale form, clasped in his arms.
Though fancy far from reason strayed,
When stars were guardian angels made,
Yet she, perchance, is one indeed:
The spirit, from its bondage freed,
May still be hov'ring, while they sleep,
Around those friends who o'er her weep.




AN EPITAPH
COMPOSED FOR MRS. M. 0. M. OF JAY.
W lay her in the earth, and from her fair
And unpolluted flesh may violets spring."
Shakspeare.
With flowing tears, dear cherished one,
We lay thee with the dead;
And flowers, which thou didst love so well,
Shall wave above thy head.

Sweet emblems of thy dearer self,
They find a wintry tomb;
And at the south wind's gentle touch,
Spring forth to life and bloom.






THE SNOW-DROP.


Thus, when the sun of righteousness
Shall gild thy dark abode,
Thy slumb'ring dust shall bloom afresh,
And soar to meet thy God.






LINES

UPOX THE DEATH OF REUBEN, PELBE B., CHARBLS, SUSAN
AND MARY A. WINa,
(Children of Mr. Reuben and Mrs. Lucy Wing of Liver-
more,) who died within the space of 2 years and 8
months, between the ages of 15 and 24 years.
Just like the rainbow in a shower, -
Like.clouds that vanish in an hour,
Or some fair fragile vernal flower,
They passed away.
I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because thou
didst it. Scripture.
A peaceful dwelling, once we found,
Where dwelt the bright eyed laughing boy;
Fair blooming sisters clustered round,
Fond parents eyed the group with joy.





THE SNOW-DROP.


But death, who feeds on tears and woe,
Beheld this happy youthful band;
Then bade his pale companion go
And smite them with his with'ring hand.

The son, just launched on manhood's tide,
The dating father's prop and stay, -
The tender mother's joy and pride, -
Became the fell destroyer's prey;

While tasting bliss without alloy,
Thrice happy with his youthful bride.
Alas! how frail all mortal joy,
When cast on life's tempestuous tide.

Hygenia lends her aid in vain, -
No balm can heal his aching breast, -
Nor anxious friends relieve one pain,
Or give the sinking suff'rer rest.

Patient and uncomplaining still,
He smiles and cheers each weeping friend;
Faith, love and grief, their bosoms fill,
While he draws near his peaceful end.







THE SNOW-DROP. 29

He calmly bids his friends adieu;
iMy lovely bride, he cries, farewell!
By faith fair Canaan's land I view,
Oh may we there together dwell.

Do'nt weep for me, dear mourning friends,
I'm not afraid to meet my God;
The chief of sinners pardon finds,
Washed in the Savior's precious blood.

He sleeps in Jesus and is blest;
I hear the sacred word proclaim,
That all shall find eternal rest,
Who trusted in their Savior's name.

Nor has the pale destroyer done,
Although one victim is at rest; -
He plucks his dagger from the son,
And plants it in a daughter's breast.

The blooming Susan feels the blow, -
Her ruby lips turn deathly pale, -
She cries, Oh! mother, I must go, -
This fatal weapon cannot fail.






THE SNOW-DROP.


The blushing rose forsakes her cheek, -
The lily now usurps its place; -
But still she's patient, mild and meek,
She daily grows in ev'ry grace.

Though fading, yet more lovely still,
She twines around each kindred heart,
While this dread truth their bosoms fill,
That they with her must shortly part.

The long feared fatal hour draws near, -
Deep silence hushed the mourning throng,
Yet still her feeble voice they hear, -
Dear mother, falters on her tongue.

That name her infant tongue first learned,
It trembled on her latest breath; -
Yet a deaf ear the monster turned,
And hushed the tender sound in death.

A placid smile is on her brow ; -
Does filial love still linger there ?
Or does her convoy angel now
Breathe heavenly music in her ear?






THE SNOW-DROP.

Long ere a springing blade appeared
Upon that daughter's new made grave, -
Consumption cries, Oh! be prepared,
Another blooming form I crave.

A youthful son was now his prey, -
Whose rising merits win each heart, -
A noble mind beams from his eye, -
Fair virtue dwells in his young heart.

Yet pale disease now lurks around,
His active limbs their vigor lose ;
But lo! he hears the joyful sound ; -
The gospel brings him glorious news.

What though his earthly house decays,
And swiftly sink life's ebbing sands;
He 's one eternal in the skies,
Not made by dying, mortal hands.

While friends ask, must you go so soon,
Oh must we part with you to-day?
He, smiling, says, I crave the boon;
Joyful I go without delay.







OZ THE SNOW-DROP.

My Savior cheers the lonely vale,
His smiles of love dispel the gloom;
Oh then how can my courage fail -
Why should I dread the peaceful tomb?

The Savior blest this lowly bed,
And robbed the monster of his sting;
My Lord will raise me from the dead, -
Give me a harp and bid me sing.

Behold this lovely, youthful saint,
In raptures close his dying eyes;
He yields to death without complaint,
And soars triumphant to the skies.

Voracious grave! thou ne'er wast cloy'd!
Thy constant cry has been for more,
Since Abel, thy first victim, died;
Yet thou art eager as before.

Once more deathbends the fatal bow,-
Again he seeks a shining mark;
Another blooming son lies low, -
Death steals away the vital spark.






THE SNOW-DROP. 00

Though far from home and those dear
friends
Which soothe his grief and crown his bliss,
His heavenly Father comfort sends,-
The Holy Spirit whispers peace.

He seeks the dear paternal hearth,
To die by his fond parent's side;
To him the dearest friends on earth,
Who with a smile each tear would hide.

A few short weeks he lingered there,
While heavenly peace reigned in his breast;
He cries, my friends, oh now prepare
To meet where sorrows ne'er molest.

Though earthly friends are dear to me,
I feel them twining round my heart,
A friend in heaven, by faith, I see,
Who bids my joyful soul depart.

Dear mourning friends, now dry your tears ;
Bid ev'ry murm'ring thought be still;
My mind is free from doubts and fears, -
I sink into my Savior's will.







THE SNOW-DROP.


With smiles of victory on his brow,
And heav'nly transport in his breast,
Well pleased, he leaves this vale of woe,
And like an infant sinks to rest.

Down through the portals of the sky
Descend a glorious shining band,
Who waft his soul to joys on high,
And blissful scenes at God's right hand.

Nor does the monster yet relent, -
Four blooming victims he has slain,
Yet on another now intent,
He bends his fatal bow again.

And must this only daughter go,
Ere half her budding graces bloom ?
Yes, cruel death will take her too,
To swell his numbers in the tomb.

See on her cheek the death rose bloom,
And smile with a deceitful glow;
'Tis the red banner of the tomb,
To warn her friends that she must go.






THE SNOW-DROP.


With bleeding hearts they feel the rod,
And weeping, lay her in the grave,
Yet with submission yield to God,
The precious jewel which he gave.

But when the trump of God shall sound,
To call each sainted sleeper home,
Should they, with ev'ry child, surround
The mighty conq'ror of the tomb -

They 'll cry, oh Lord, thou ever just,
Behold us and our children here!
Thou didst in love give them to us,
And we resigned them to thy care.

Now we will chant Redemption's song,
Which Gabriel never learned to sing,
Nor one of all th' angelic throng, -
To Jesus, prophet, priest and king.






THE SNOW-DROP.


THE ROSE AND LILAC TREE.*

No garland, fresh from Eden's bowers,
Could be more sweet than these dear flowers
To each surviving friend;
They 'll water them with falling tears,
And nurse them through succeeding years,
And from each ill defend.


Bloom on, each weeping parent cried,-
My daughters planted you and died, -
You are most dear to me;
Each now in smiling beauty stands,
Where placed by those fair youthful hands, -
Sweet rose and lilac tree.


Bloom on, bloom on, perfume the air, -
I love to see you flourish there,
And in bright beauty bloom;

The Rose and Lilac trees, referred to above, were
planted by two youthful sisters a short time before their
death.






THE SNOW-DROP.


Each tiny leaf I hold most dear,
Although you oft call forth a tear
For loved ones in the tomb.

Bloom on, sweet flow'rs, while yet you may;
Your fading leaves will soon portray
The lovely, fragile form,
Which passed from earth while skies seemed
fair,
Like vapors quiv'ring in the air,
Before a coming storm.

I gaze upon these opening flowers -
They bring a dream of blissful hours,
When brighter germs were mine;
Once on my throbbing bosom lay
Sweet budding blossoms, fair as they,
Fraught with immortal minds.

'Neath summer skies these flow'rs will fade -
Fair emblems of the youthful dead,
But spring restores their bloom.
Just so the saints that droop and die,
When Gabriel's trump shall rend the sky,
Will leave the mould'ring tomb.






THE SNOW-DROP.


They'll leave this dull, this earthly sod,
And, in the garden of our God,
Bloom with celestial grace,
Where frost and mildew ne'er can blight;
There, all enraptured with delight,
God's wondrous works they'll trace.




LINES
COMPOSED ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MARY M. WEST, OF JAY.

DEAR Mary, while thou art in heaven, at rest,
We're mourning thy absence, bereft and de-
pressed ;
For thou wert so faithful, so winning and kind,
That our hearts' ev'ry fibre around thee en-
twined.

How oft have we listened, unwilling to part,
While sweet heavenly music gushed forth
from thy heart,
Till angels in glory, well pleased with the
strain,
Re-echoed it over the heavenly plain.







THE SNOW-DROP.


The sound of thy voice we can never forget,
Thy last parting smile sweetly lingers here
yet;
And since thy freed spirit to heaven was borne,
Our hearts crave the boon o'er thy mem'ry to
mourn.

Adieu, dearest Mary, thy spirit has flown
To those blissful regions where tears are un-
known;
No trials assail thee, no troubles or fears, -
The smile of thy Savior has dried up thy
tears.

No more shalt thou weep o'er thy dear Hen-
ry,* dead-
For now by his side thou art resting thy head;
Thou now dost behold him in glory above,
But Jesus, thy Savior, outvies him in love.

Transported with joy, with thy Savior at rest,
Though angels are singing, you'll praise him
the best.


* Husband of Mrs. W.






THE SNOW-DROP.


Bright glories, unfolding, still burst on thy
view -
The song thou art chanting will ever be new.


Thy sun at its zenith on earth ceased to
shine,
But beams with new lustre in regions divine;
For ages eternal 't will ever shine on-
Still gathering new splendor from God's daz-
zling throne.






THOUGHTS

OCCASIONED BY THE SUDDEN DEATH OF J. W. N.

THE short lived, fragrant, vernal flower,
Which blooms and withers in an hour,
With him may well compare;
His life was like the meteor's light,
Which shone and vanished from the sight -
Dissolving in the air.






THE SNOW-DROP. A1

Not so the thrilling ties that bind
The loved one's image to the mind -
It lives and brightens there;
Engraved upon each bleeding heart,
Which cannot, will not, deign to part
With such a jewel rare.





REFLECTIONS

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF S. WHITE, OF LIVERMORE,
WHO DIED DEC. 25TH, 1842, AGED 26.

WHY do these tears bedew our eyes?
Why heaves the breast with bursting sighs ?
We've seen a friend depart;
In vain we tune our harp and sing,
'We cannot touch that thrilling string,
Which vibrates in the heart.

Engaging, graceful and refined,
Frank, open, generous and kind,
Was our departed friend;







THE SNOW-DROP.


His mental powers were deep and clear, -
His ardent friendship, most sincere,
With life alone could end.

His heart could feel for others' woe
How oft his footsteps, soft and low,
Fell on the suff'rer's ear!
Each word he spake, their grief to quell,
Seemed waters gushing from a well,
Whose fount was deep and clear.

In early years he mourned for sin,
And prayed for garments white and clean,
Washed in the Savior's blood.
He journeyed on for many years,
Amidst temptations, doubts, and fears,
But found a pard'ning God.

His lustrous eyes are dim in death,
His voice passed like the zephyr's breath,
That heart has lost its tone;
But while we weep around his dust,
That soul its prison doors hath burst,
And worships 'round the throne.







THE SNOW-DROP.


But shall we murmur and complain?
Shall our warm tears descend like rain
Around his early grave?
While kindred dear must weep and mourn,
More sacred tears bedew his urn
Than ever friendship gave.

That brother, who with him has played
Beside the brook, or in the shade
Where feathered warblers sang,
And sported by the river side,
Or o'er the ice taught him to glide,
While merry laughter rang -

His love increased with growing years,
One were their hopes, their joys, their fears,
Their Savior, too, was one.
That brother's grief must be severe,
Yet from his lips we hope to hear,
"My Father's will be done."

Like ivy, round some youthful pine,
Did Julia's warm affections twine
Round his fraternal heart;






THE SNOW-DROP.


Through adverse scenes they struggled long,
Which rendered nature's ties more strong,
But they, alas! must part.

Should fell disease assail her now,
Place his pale signet on her brow,
And chill her heart with fear;
No more he'd stand beside her bed, -
Bathe her parched lips, and aching head,
And strive her mind to cheer.

She'll range the paths where they have
strayed,
And wander through the silent shade,
And ask, is brother here ?"
She'll view the grave, and that will say
There's naught within but mould'ring clay,
No more will he appear.

That sister, who hath sought a friend
To share her grief till time shall end,
Must still in tears be drowned;
Although a partner soothes her grief,
And kindly strives to give relief,
And children cluster round; -






THE SNOW-DROP.


She sees their glossy ringlets flow,
In clusters o'er each little brow;
They speak of days gone by,
When she with brother often strayed,
O'er hill and dale and flow'ry glade,
Where golden sunbeams lie.

A fair young friend, whose aching heart
Now feels affliction's keenest dart,
Must long in sadness weep;
Her brightest hopes are fled away,
Alas! her sweetest joys decay,
They in the grave must sleep.

Her heart still bleeds at every pore,
That much loved form she'll see no more,
Till Gabriel's trump shall sound;
We trust they'll then in raptures rise,
To that bright world above the skies,
Where tears no more are found.

His aged parents feel the blow;
Long since they gazed upon his brow,
And blessed their infant boy;






46 THE SNOW-DROP.

Trembling with age, we hear them say,
a This dear support is torn away,
What now can yield us joy?

Long years we watched our lovely plant,
With care supplied its every want,
And hoped it long might bloom;
But fierce disease has laid it low,
Reckless of tears that 'round it flow,
And laid it in the tomb.

Long, long we nursed his fading form,
And strove to shun the gathering storm,
Which threatened in the sky;
Yet from our bleeding bosoms torn,
Our darling son leaves us to mourn;
Who can his place supply ?"

But could their vision now extend
To those bright realms where dwells their
friend,
Their tears would cease to flow;
They'd long to leave this dusky sphere,
And from their lips we soon should hear,
"Dear Savior, let me go."






THE SNOW-DROP.


No more they'd wish the seraph here,
To wander in this vale so drear,
And lay his glory by;
To suffer years of grief and pain,
And cross cold Jordan's stream again,
To reach the joys on high.





THE SISTER'S LAMENT.

LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF E. TORRY, OF PORTLAND.

OH, Edward, dear Edward! how precious that
sound,
I seek for an equal it cannot be found;
In tones soft and pensive it visits my ear, -
I fain would believe thou art hovering near.

Since thy happy spirit to heaven has fled,
Art thou with me by day, by night round my
bed?
I visit thy grave and bedew it with tears,
To share in my sorrow, no Edward appears.






THE SNOW-DROP.


On earth 't was thy pleasure to soothe all my
grief,
To wipe off my tears and to bring me relief;
Thy heart's warm affections were lavished on
me,
I've spent happy moments conversing with
thee.

My counselor, playmate, my guide, and my
friend,
On whom I might always in safety depend,
In paths of fair virtue my feet thou hast led,
Where vice, that foul monster, dares not show
his head.

Nor was all thy kindness bestowed upon one;
Thou wast an affectionate, dutiful son;
Thy dear honored parents drank deep of thy
love,
None ever shared more but thy Father above.

Thy father now sinks neathh a burden of woe,
His once brilliant eyes now with tears over-
flow ;






THE SNOW-DROP.


Thy mother sits weeping, thy fond brothers
sigh,
The dear little children cease playing and cry.

Fair nature is wearing a mantle of gloom,
Deep sorrow sits brooding all round our sweet
home;
The soft vernal zephyrs come sighing along,
The streamlets are murmuring a sad, mournful
song.

The gray twilight shades come attended with
gloom,
While like a dark pall they encircle thy tomb;
When soft showers descend, something whis-
pers to me,
That tears from the clouds are descending for
thee.

No star spangled heavens nor cool shady
bowers,
No deep ancient forest or fair fragrant flowers
Can fill up the void that I feel in my breast,
Although thou art tuning thy harp with the
blest.






THE SNOW-DROP.


In dreams I behold thee when I am asleep,
It cheers up my spirits and I cease to weep;
Enshrined in my heart thy fair image shall
dwell,
I'll keep it there always, I love it so well.





LINES UPON A LOCK OF HAIR.

I'LL weave a bracelet of this hair, -
Although these locks so hallowed are,
It seems like sacrilege to wear
Such relics of the dead.

I've seen them clust'ring 'round a brow
Which drooped beneath affliction's blow,
And slumbers in the church-yard now,
With all its beauty flown.

The hand that dressed these locks with care,
And 'ranged them 'round that brow so fair,
And oft clasped mine with friendly air,
Is turning back to dust.






THE SNOW-DROP.


And closed those eyes, whose radiant beams
Surpass'd imagination's dreams,
Yet whispering still, were but faint gleams
Emerging from the soul.

Farewell, dear friend, these locks I'll keep,
Till in the grave with thee I sleep;
There, like thee, may I cease to weep,
And, with thee, wake to sing.






LINES

SUGGESTED BY READING AN ACCOUNT OF THE LAST HOURS OF
MRS. SARAH JUDSON, SECOND WIFE OF THE LATE
LAMENTED DR. JUDSON, OF BURMAH.

I am in a strait betwixt two, let the will of the Lord
be done." Judson's Offering, 231st page. These were
the words of Mrs. Judson a few days previous to her
death, when questioned as to her desires respecting the
issue of the affliction under which she was suffering.

LIFE'S trials and dangers will all soon be o'er,
I feel myself nearing the heavenly shore,





52 THE SNOW-DROP.

I'm weary of wandering, oh fain would I rest
With Jesus, my Savior, and sleep on his breast.

I'm weary and thirsty, my spirit has flown
Almost to that river which bursts from the
throne; -
I'd range its fair borders, and plunge in its
flood,
And join with the angels in praising my God.

Pd rest in the shade of that tree, growing near,
Which yields its rich fruit every month in the
year;
Its leaves are so healing, no sickness comes
there,
To mar the new song as it floats through the
air.

I think of the rest in those regions above, -
My soul spreads her pinions and soars like a
dove, -
Yet I'm drawn back to earth by one tender tie,
Which oft clogs my wings; then, oh! how
can I fly!







THE SNOW-DROP.


I think of New England, my fair native land,
The friends of my childhood, that dear faith-
ful band,
Who're waiting to greet me with hearts full
of love,
Not knowing my bark will cast anchor above.

To see me, my kindred impatiently wait, -
I think of those dear ones, my soul's in a
strait, -
My father, my mother, my dear orphan son, -
Oh Lord, decide for me, let thy will be done'





JUDSON'S GRAVE.

DEAR shepherd of the Burman sheep,
Where have they laid thee down to sleep ?
Beside thy long lamented Ann,
Or 'midst thy charge at Aracan ?
Or does that palm tree o'er thee wave,
Which shadows thy dear Sarah's grave?






011M THE SNOW-DROP.

I pause, and drop the silent tear, -
In mournful tones, a voice I hear,
Exclaiming, "Earth affords no space
For Judson's last calm resting place."
Ye spicy groves, perfume each breeze
That steals along the Indian seas, -
For we have felt a pang of woe,
Since, plunged in awful depths below,
Our much lamented Judson's clay,
Must neathh its rolling billows lay,
Where monsters of the ocean creep,
'Round him o'er whom the nations weep.
No stone directs the stranger's eye
To where his sacred relics lie,
Nor can the weeping Burmans come
To shed their tears around his tomb.
And when their work on earth is done,
No mourning daughter, wife, or son
Can rest from toil the weary head,
Beside him in his ocean bed.
But while we shrink from such a grave,
He rests as sweetly neathh the wave
As though in Auburn's bowers he lay,
Where sunbeams through green branches play,






THE SNOW-DROP. 55

And roses, wet with tear drops, bloom
Around th' unconscious sleeper's tomb.
Let no rude wind, no angry storm,
The ocean's heaving breast deform, -
'Tis hallowed as dear Judson's bed,
Until the sea gives up its dead.
Though mortals weep with fond regret,
The Lord that spot will ne'er forget;
He will a faithful record keep, -
He knows where all his children sleep.
Though monsters should that form devour,
'Twill rise in beauty, strength and power;
That voice, which rends the tombs and graves,
Will sound through all the ocean caves;
Then 'roused by heaven's eternal King,
He'll tune his golden harp and sing;
While, quick as thought, to join the song,
Will Burman converts round him throng,
And on that bright auspicious morn,
Like jewels his rich crown adorn.






THE SNOW-DROP.


LINES

SUGGESTED BY A REMARK MADE BY THE REV. WINTHROP
MORSE, WHILE ADDRESSING A CONGREGATION ASSEM-
BLED ON THE BANKS OF THE SANDY RIVER,
UPON A BAPTISMAL OCCASION.

The writer of the following, though but a child, was
present, and, for the first time, witnessed the administra-
tion of that solemn ordinance.

"WE'RE traveling to eternity,"
God's faithful servant cried,
As he addressed the multitude
That thronged the water's side.

"We're traveling to eternity,"
He said with tearful eye,-
Then come, dear friends, and choose the path
That leads to joys on high.

"We're traveling to eternity,"
The convert seemed to say,-
I'll trace the path my Savior marked,
Though through these waves it lay.






THE SNOW-DROP.


"We're traveling to eternity,"
Was echoed from the stream,
Like me your days will swiftly glide,
Or like a fleeting dream.

"We're traveling to eternity,"
The Holy Spirit said, -
And sweetly whispered to the soul,
I'll be thy heavenly guide."

"We're traveling to eternity,"
That sentence reached my heart,
I trembled lest I there should hear
That awful word, "depart."

Yes, traveling to eternity,
While overwhelmed with guilt, -
Afraid that Jesus' pard'ning love,
By me would ne'er be felt.

"We're traveling to eternity,"-
It rings upon my ear;
The hills which echoed back that sound,
Still to my heart are dear.







THE SNOW-DROP.


"We're traveling to eternity,"
Said that dear faithful friend,
Whose image in my mem'ry lives,
And will, till life shall end.

"We're traveling to eternity,"
Soon, soon we there shall meet,
And is my deathless soul prepared,
That friend in heaven to greet ?




THE INQUIRY.
AM I a christian far astray,
And slumb'ring on enchanted ground;
Or did my feet ne'er find the way,
Which Bunyan's humble pilgrim found?

Whence was that strange delight I felt?
Why did the gospel charm my ear?
What caused this stubborn heart to melt?
Why was the Savior's name so dear?

Why was the fountain of his blood,
So precious in my mental eye?







THE SNOW-DROP.


Why did such deep sensations crowd
Around the scene on Calvary?

Why did the Godhead shine so bright ?
Why did I love the garb he wore,
Alike, when justice claimed his right,
And when sweet mercy's name he bore ?

Did airy phantoms fill my brain ? -
Did vain delusions cheat my soul? -
Must those bright hopes prove false and vain?
And must I miss the heavenly goal?




"There is joy in Heaven, in the presence of the angels,
Over one sinner that repenteth." Scripture.

WHAT'S this that breaks upon my ear? -
Music sweet,
From golden harps, methinks I hear !
Glorious strains!
"There's joy in Heaven," the angels sing,
"A soul repents and owns our King;"
From Heaven to earth the echoes ring,
Pard'ning love!






THE SNOW-DROP.


JEPHTHAH'S VOW.

THE warrior left the battle field, -
Jehovah there had been his shield, -
He heard his solemn vow.
The foe had in confusion fled,
While thousands on the field lay dead,
All, all were vanquish'd now.

Though that brave heart was cased in steel,
Which flashed forth wrath that all might feel,
Who Israel's right oppressed;
Yet, in its sacred chambers rose
As pure a flame as ever glows
Within a parent's breast.

He turned him to that sacred spot,
Where one loved being shared his lot, -
(It was an only child;)
Though long she'd wept and quaked with fear,
When "victory," fell upon her ear,
She wiped her eyes and smiled.






THE SNOW-DROP. 61

Like as the lark outspreads her wings,
And, while she's soaring, sweetly sings
To charm the listener's ears,
The maiden, springing from her seat,
Flew forth, her coming friend to greet.
Her father now appears.

As her light footsteps pressed the ground,
Melodious music floated round,
Forth gushing from her heart.
"Alas! my child," the father sighed,
"What sent thee here, my love ?" he cried,
"To tell that we must part ?"

"Thy father made a solemn vow, -
He sees, he feels his error now,
Yes, made a vow to God;
And he will claim my darling now,
He bids me pay that awful vow,
And pay it with thy blood."

"But how can I thy life destroy?
Thou art my solace, hope, and joy,
My cherished only child."
6






THE SNOW-DROP.


The lustre beaming from her eye,
Seemed caught from radiant orbs on high,
So brilliant, yet so mild.

"Pay to the Lord thy vow," she said,
"God's altar is a pleasant bed,
From thence to heaven I'll rise.
The Lord has answered thy request,
Israel is free, our land at rest,
I'll be thy sacrifice."




Like a lost sheep I have gone astray." Psalms.

LIKE sheep that wander far astray,
Nor ask the shepherd's care,
Did I forsake the narrow way,
Nor seek my God in prayer.

I wandered in a desert wild,
Where snares beset me 'round;
Trifles and toys my feet beguiled,
And all my senses drowned.






THE SNOW-DROP.


Though clouds encompassed me around,
In darkness on I sped,
Still wandering on enchanted ground,
Till hope seemed almost fled.

I murmured, at the righteous hand
That held the chast'ning rod,
Like one that could not understand
The precepts of his God.

Well might the Father's smile depart,
The Savior hide his face,
And God, the spirit, shun my heart,
That foul polluted place.

We never find the heavenly dove
Perched on an idol throne;
Those, who would share Jehovah's love,
Must worship him alone.




And the vail of the temple was rent in twain."
Scripture.
COME, with your guilt and sin oppressed,
In Christ there's pardon, peace and rest;






THE SNOW-DROP.


Come, humbly bow before his feet,
No vail conceals the mercy seat.

Come, boldly to a throne of grace,
The vilest here may find a place, -
For that dark vail was rent in twain,
When Christ, the heavenly lamb, was slain.

Come, rear no altar, slay no beast,
Our Savior now is great high priest,
He rent the vail, to make it plain,
That free access should hence remain.






LINES

TO A LONG ABSENT RELATIVE.

Is THY native land forgotten?
Wilt thou still a wand'rer be ?
Have New England's hills and valleys
Lost their every charm for thee ?






THE SNOW-DROP.


Is thy native land forgotten?
Tell me, dost thou feel content,
Far from that loved rural dwelling
Where thine infant days were spent ?

Is thy native land forgotten,
Where glad parents, filled with joy,
Prayed for heaven's richest blessings
To attend their infant boy ?

Is thy native land forgotten,
Land where thou first drew thy breath,
Where those sainted parents watched thee,
Where they closed their eyes in death?

Is thy native land forgotten?
Or dost thou revere the sod
Where thy heart for sin was broken,
Where thy soul found peace with God?

Is that sacred stream forgotten,
Where, immersed beneath the flood,
Saying, "I with Christ am buried,
And henceforth will live to God ?"






THE SNOWDROP.


Is that hallowed spot forgotten ?
Or does fancy paint it now,
With bright angels hov'ring o'er it,
Waiting to record that vow ?

Are thy brothers all forgotten,
Playmates neathh New England's skies ?
When thy sisters' names are mentioned,
Do no warm emotions rise ?

Is that wasted form forgotten,
Lingering 'round cold Jordan's shore,
Praying death to stay his arrow
Till she hears thy voice once more ?

Can that sister be forgotten ?
Thou art twining 'round her heart:
Come, and let her eyes behold thee,
Let her soul in peace depart.

Is that river's shore forgotten,
Where in childhood, oft we strayed;
Where the grape in purple clusters,
Ripen'd neathh the elm tree's shade ?





THE SNOW-DROP. 67

Tell, dear friend, hast thou forgotten,
When beneath the apple tree,
That fair group of young companions,
Joined in merry sport with thee?

That old apple tree has withered,
And has vanished from the plain;
But that group are all still living, -
Come, and meet with us again.






LINES

TO THE WIFE OF THE ABOVE.

FATR daughter of a sunny clime,*
And bride of him we love,
The grief of those who mCon his loss,
Hath power thy heart to move.

The lady addressed is a native of the south.






THE SNOW-DROP.


E'en now we love thee for his sake,
But not for his alone,
For in thy heart, a chord we find,
That vibrates with our own.

We love thee, while thy feet still roam
Far on a southern shore;
But lead that wand'ring brother home,
And we will love thee more.

Come, range New England's verdant hills,
And breathe our healthful air,
'Twill tinge thy cheeks with brighter bloom,
And make thee still more fair.

Come, while the vernal zephyrs blow,
And wake to life the flowers;
Come, while the feathered warblers sing
Through all our woodland bowers.

What though outeaves will fade and fall,
And chilling north winds blow,
And all New England's hills and vales,
Lie buried deep in snow !






THE SNOW-DROP.


Snug dwellings and warm clothing still
Have power to keep us warm, -
We sit around the fireside then,
And smile to hear the storm.

Come, with thy partner, to that home
Which once he called his own,
Which his long absence oft has made
Most desolate and lone.

Welcome, twice welcome thou shalt be,
Yes, welcome as his bride ;
Welcome, I trust, for virtues too,
Which in thy heart abide.

Come, see the grateful tears of joy
Stand trembling in the eye
Of those, who never can forget
The lost one, till they die.

Come, feel the deep impassioned grasp
Of each extended hand,
Which welcomes that lost wanderer back
To his dear native land.






THE SNOW.DROP.


COME HOME TO NEW ENGLAND.

O E. 5. W. OF TEXFS.

Come home to New England, the land of
thy birth,
All nations still call her the queen of the earth.
Oh! come with thy partner and sweet rosy
child,
Where friends in life's morning, around you
have smiled.

Come, gather wild flowers, from the brook-
side and dell,
And fruit from the orchard you once loved so
well,
And feast on the sugar, fresh made from the
grove,
Where you and your brothers delighted to
rove.

Come, sit in the shade of the clustering vine,
Whose tendrils around the old elm tree en-
twine.






THE SNOW-DROP. 71
Come, range o'er the intervale, island and plain,
And live o'er the days of thy boyhood again.

Thy Father in heaven seems acting his part,
He keeps those alive, once so dear to thy
heart.
Thy brothers and sisters, and nieces a score,
And nephews, are waiting to greet thee once
more.

Our Susan, the baby that clung to thy knee,
And prattled around thee in infantine glee,
Has grown up, she's married and two bloom-
ing boys
Have stirred in her bosom a fountain of joys.

You start and exclaim, can the story be true !
I fear that you'll stay till she's grandmother,
too.
You've staid for our infants to grow up and
wed,
Our young men are old, our old ones are
dead.







12 THE SNOW-DROP.

Yes, white hairs are clust'ring round many a
crown,
Which wore, when you left them, rich tresses
of brown.
One dear faithful sister has faded-and died,
Do n't stay till the others both lie by her side.

At night I behold thee, I laugh and I weep,
Alas! I awake, 'tis the vision of sleep;
Disheartened with pleading, and pleading in
vain,
Perhaps I may never entreat you again.





A SISTER'S DEPARTURE.

I saw the tear trembling in sister's blue eye,
In bright smiles she vailed it, full well I knew
why.
That moment stern duty had called us to part,
Emotion was struggling for vent in her heart.






THE SNOW-DROP.


She asked, will some angel in mercy descend,
And from all afflictions each loved one defend ?
Or must pain and sickness make sweet home
forlorn ?
Will death send an arrow, ere I shall return?"

Dear sister, my thoughts did in unison flow,
My heart will be with you wherever you go;
By day, in my fancy, thy image I see,
And sleep brings refreshment when dreaming
of thee.




A SISTER'S COUNSEL.

"BE CHEERFUL," thou saidst; that sweet sen-
tence I heard,
Though filled with emotion, I spake not a
word;
'Twas music, more soothing than steals
through the trees
With green tresses waving in twilight's cool
breeze.
7






74 THE SNOW-DROP.

" Be cheerful," thou saidst, when about to
depart,
In tones that said plainly, we come from the
heart.
We think of thee sister, when absent or here,
And wish not thine eye to be dimmed by a
tear.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst, but, 0 how can
I be,
When thou, my dear sister, art absent from
me?
Sweet home looks so vacant, so lonely and
drear,
I cannot be cheerful as when thou art here.

"Be cheerful," thou saidst, when about to
.depart,
And conscious that grief was oppressing my
heart.
I thank thee, my sister, thy counsel was good,
I fain would obey thee, I wish that I could.






THE SNOW-DROP.


LINES

TO A FRIEND ON PARTING.

JULIA, let fond remembrance cling
Around the parting hour;
Unfading let that garland be,
Late plucked from friendship's bower.

Lurid and dark our path would be,
Uncheered by friendship's rays;
Incense divine, thy hallowed flame
Lights up our darkest days.

Absence and time can ne'er destroy
Pure friendship's crystal streams;
Near us the loved one lingers round,
And greets us in our dreams.

No brighter chain this earth can boast,
Than twines 'round kindred hearts;
Brilliant and fair the links remain,
Though fate rends them apart.






THE SNOW-DROP.


Alas! that we so soon must part,
Ere budding friendship's bloom;
Remain, sweet germ, within each heart,
And thrive beyond the tomb.

Receive, dear friend, these parting lines,
Though humble they appear;
Earth, with its joys, are fading fast,
With all that love us here.

Then may we be prepared to soar
Where ransomed spirits,blend ;
There may our souls in love unite,
Where friendship fears no end.






FAREWELL TO A BROTHER.

FAREWELL, farewell, my dearest brother,
Thou must be absent for awhile,
May no dark clouds around thee gather,
May health and fortune on thee smile.







THE SNOW-DROP. t

In fancy's dreams, I'll oft be with thee,
On thy fond heart my image bear,
And while I hope again to meet thee,
The pleasing thought my heart shall cheer.






TO W. H. D.

AN ADOPTED BROTHER.

THE home of thy childhood thou didst not
forget,
The friends which dwelt with thee are dear
to thee yet,
Thy warm friendly greeting betokens it now,
The smile of pure friendship still beams from
thy brow.


I khew that thy heart was so faithful and true,
' Thou wouldst not forget, though thou bad'st
us adieu;
7*







78 THE SNOW-DROP.

For thou didst rejoice with us when we were
blest,
And sympathize with us, however distressed.

Say, wilt thou remember us, while thou dost
live,
And cherish our virtues, our frailties forgive?
O think of us always, where'er thou dost roam,
For thy living image dwells ever at home.

But there is a home which is better than this,
The inmates all drink at the fountain of bliss;
A friend, than a father or mother more dear,
More close than a brother, this friend will
adhere.

Wouldst find that blest home? go, and follow
the road,
Which Christ and the prophets have marked
out, to God;
The Spirit will teach you, and guide, lest you
stray,
While legions of angels shall throng round
your way.







THE SNOW-DROP.


LINES
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
AN ACROSTIC.
D ARK frowning clouds obscure thy sky,
E ach future prospect iades;
B ut there's a kind protector nigh,
0 n him rely for aid.
R ich treasures are locked up in store,
A affliction turns the key;
H ow oft when dreadful thunders roar,
M ay showers bid famine flee.
O sister, never yield to fears
W hen tempests roar aloud,
E 'en then, the bow of hope appears,
R ich hues bedeck you cloud.




LINES TO A SISTER.
SUSAN, I long again to greet thee,
Fain would I clasp thee in my arms,
While that bland smile o'erspread thy features,
Which to thy brow adds nameless charms.







THE SNOW-DROP.


LINES
TO A FRIEND IN AFFLICTION.
AN ACROSTIC.
D ARK frowning clouds obscure thy sky,
E ach future prospect iades;
B ut there's a kind protector nigh,
0 n him rely for aid.
R ich treasures are locked up in store,
A affliction turns the key;
H ow oft when dreadful thunders roar,
M ay showers bid famine flee.
O sister, never yield to fears
W hen tempests roar aloud,
E 'en then, the bow of hope appears,
R ich hues bedeck you cloud.




LINES TO A SISTER.
SUSAN, I long again to greet thee,
Fain would I clasp thee in my arms,
While that bland smile o'erspread thy features,
Which to thy brow adds nameless charms.







THE SNOW-DROP.


Dear sister, I can still remember
When first I clasped thee to my breast;
I viewed thee as a priceless treasure,
Bestowed to make life's pathway blest.

Although a little tiny creature,
Devoid of friendship, love, or care,
Yet, I highly prized the casket,
I knew a sister's heart throbbed there.

And when I heard, in lisping accents,
Affection flowing from thy tongue,
With strange delight, I listened to it,
As though some little cherub sung.

When in the garden thou wast straying,
To play among thy fragrant flowers,
I thought that Flora's fairest blossoms
Would vainly strive to vie with ours.

Dear sister, canst not thou remember,
When I'd been absent for awhile,
With what a boyant step thou'dst meet me,
And greet me with thy sunny smile?






THE SNOW-DROP. uo

And, when fatigued, I sought retirement,
Or left thee for a few short hours,
Oft thou wouldst steal into my chamber
And strew my couch with fragrant flowers.

I trust that flame is not extinguished,
Although our duty bade us part;
I trust it still is burning brightly
Upon the altar of thy heart.

O come, and join the fireside circle
Around the old paternal hearth;
Come, let thy smiles and songs delight us,
They are like sunlight to the earth.

The little birds are singing sweetly;
The verdant fields perfume the air;
Our garden walks would be most pleasant,
If Susan's voice was ringing there.

Adieu, dear sister, for the present,
But tell me, wilt thou not be here
Ere the wintry winds are sighing
Requiems o'er a dying year?






THE SNOW-DROP.


TO MY BROTHER.
THE SCENES OF OUR CHILDHOOD.

FAR back, through the vista of long buried
years,
I look through this valley of sorrow and tears;
Like pictures, in bright glowing colors dis-
played,
The scenes of my life's rosy morn are por-
trayed.

An image, the foreground presents to my sight,
Which shed o'er my pathway its radiant light;
An image of him who first held my soft hand,
And shouted with joy when his sister could
stand:

From him, I first caught the sweet magical art
Of turning to language, the thoughts of my
heart;
When first to the school-house he went as my
guide,
His heart swelled with pleasure, affection and
pride.






THE SNOW-DROP. 83

Delighted, we ranged o'er the hillside, in
spring,
And listened with rapture to hear the birds
sing;
Then stopped in the pasture to see the lambs
play,
As frolicsome, cheerful, and happy as they.

We ranged o'er the meadow, the forest, and
bowers,
Picked berries for mother, and gathered wild
flowers,
Dear brother, how oft by the rosebush we sat,
While you caught the butterflies under your
hat.

With gay happy hearts to the woodland we
strayed,
When autumn its rich pensive beauty dis-
played;
The robin was chanting her sweet farewell
song,
While blithe little squirrels went skipping
along.






84 THE SNOW-DROP.

Those bright little rogues which the husband-
men scorn,
Sly'd into their holes with their cheeks full of
corn;
The clear mellow sunlight, in quivering
streams,
Sent through the tall tree tops its roseate
beams.

Jack Frost and October, when evenings grew
cold,
Had drest up the forest in crimson and gold;
The bright leaves were borne on the wings of
the breeze,
While we picked up beach-nuts from under
the trees.

When trees were all leafless, and snow-clad
the ground,
Sweet pleasures at home in our cottage we
found;
'Round our bright blazing fire, we'd work,
read, or play,
And find sweet employment to fill up each day.






THE SNOW-DROP. 85

And when evening came, the old hearth we'd
surround,
While you cracked the nuts, which in
autumn we found,
I tended my kittens, and made up their bed,
You made them a yoke and a nice little sled.

We heard the hens cackle, and thought we
were blest,
You flew to the hayloft, and found a full nest,
Then caught up the treasure, and smiled as
you run,
With a hat full of eggs, and a head full of fun.

We ran on the snow-crust like fleet nimble
deer,
Until our fair cheeks would like rosebuds
appear.
I never was lonesome, and never afraid,
If Hiram, my brother, for company stayed.

O, then we were happy in winter or spring,
Yes, happier far than the happiest king.
8






86 THE SNOW-DROP.

You grew up to manhood, and left your old
home,
But may you be happy wherever you roam.

I ne'er can forget how it made my heart grieve,
When you of the precious old homestead
took leave ;
I feared that with business and cares overrun,
You'd soon cease to love me as once you had
done;

And earth would be shrouded in sadness and
gloom,
If I, in your heart, could not always find room.
Though care leaves a shadow on thy manly
brow,
Thy heart's warm affections are mirrored there
now.

But when you are with me a brief space to stay,
I'm all the while thinking you'll soon go
away;
Yet we shall soon meet in a far distant land,
God grant it may be at the Savior's right hand.






THE SNOW-DROP.


MY BROTHER IN THE TEMPEST.

'TWAS summer, and a sultry day
Was drawing to a close,
One cloud, along the northwest lay,
Which tardily arose.

Along a winding path we strayed,
Which through the forest led,
While not one gentle zephyr swayed
The branches overhead.

Deep muttering thunders soon were heard,
Dark shadows gathered round;
The trees, at intervals, were stirred
By gusts of threatening sound.

The hurricane arose in wrath,
The rain in torrents poured;
Huge trees were flung across our path,
Loud crashing thunders roared.

When vivid lightning round us blazed,
He told me not to fear;






THE SNOW-DROP.


My little trembling hand he seized,
And checked the rising tear.


Loud thunders through the forest pealed;
He smiled, and cheered me on,
Exclaiming, "we'll soon reach the field,
Then all the danger's gone."


But soon, in hurried tones he said,
Run, sister, run with me,
Look! look! directly o'er your head,
Behold that falling tree !"


But, while I heard the warning sound
Rise o'er the raging storm,
Its double trunk had clasped around
My little trembling form.


Why did my brother linger there,
Nor strive to gain the field ?
Torn branches filled the darkened air,
Huge trees above us reeled.







THE SNOW-DROP.


Like some stern warrior on the field,
'Midst danger, death, and strife,
He stood, determined not to yield,
Until he saved my life.

That awful tempest, and thy care,
My memory still retains,
Engraved upon those tablets fair,
'Twill live while life remains.






LINES

ADDRESSED TO AN ABSENT SISTER.

DEAR sister, though absent, your image is
bright,
It dwells in my heart and prompts me to write;
Your health, is it blooming, your spirits in
cheer?
You know wouldd rejoice me, such tidings
to hear.
8*







THE SNOWDROP.


The din of the village, and hum of the mill,
Can they charm my sister like our quiet vale?
Does our little cottage seem humble and mean,
Embosomed with trees, and surrounded with
green ?

Like father and mother, are those where you
dwell ?
Like brothers and sisters who love you so
well?
Or do you look forward and sigh for that hour,
When we shall all meet in your jessamine
bower ?

Where vines that you planted, will wave o'er
your head,
And nature's green carpet sweet odors will
shed;
Each cool breeze is playing with flowers
growing near,
Which sister has planted, our spirits to cheer.

Your roses and lilacs, among the pine trees,
Are swarming with butterflies, humbirds, and
bees;







THE SNOW-DROP. 91

I view them each morning, all sparkling with
dew,
And fancy they're emblems of sisters like you.

Come home and do housework, tend poultry
and flowers,
At noontide recline in our cool shady bowers;
Could not such employment still yield you
delight,
Where birds are all singing from morning till
night ?

Soon summer is coming, your flow'rets will
bloom,
And spread new enchantments around your
old home;
Our grove by the river in beauty is drest,
The Whippowil's notes sweetly soothe us
to rest.

The sun, in mild splendor, sinks down in the
west,
Encircling with glory the old mountain's
crest;







THE SNOW-DROP.


The clouds o'er his head glow with purple
and gold,
The river is catching the tinge of each fold.

The scene would be lovely, if sister was here,
But now I'm so lonely, it looks sad and drear;
The beauties of nature are losing their charms,
No more to divert me, till clasped in your arms.

But I'm growing weary, I'll draw to a close,
And seek for refreshment in needful repose;
If this, from a sister can give you delight,
Retire to your chamber, this evening, and
write.

Adieu, my dear sister, until your return
Sweet home will be dreary, and almost forlorn;
May God be your guide, your supporter and
stay,
Directing your footsteps, wherever you stray.






THE SNOW-DROP.


A MORNING SCENE

ON A SISTER'S WEDDING DAY.

DEAR sister, when they called thee bride,
That sound, my spirits deeply tried;
My heart, at that one little word,
Through every trembling fibre stirred.

I'd still a place within thy heart,
But oh, I felt it hard to part;
And that long dreaded hour had come,
When thou must leave thy childhood's home.

But that sad morn; a pleasant sight
Cast o'er the future gleams of light;
I listened, and the voice of prayer
Ascended on the morning air.

'Twas then, I thought the heavenly dove
Gave us a token of his love,
For, in the western heavens, now
Appeared a bright resplendent bow.






THE SNOW-DROP.


'Twas lovely as that arch displayed
When Noahl by the altar prayed;
That sacred scene could but impart
A gleam of sunshine to my heart.

O, 'twas a consecrated hour,
When, through that sweet refreshing shower
The morning sunbeams brightly smiled,
And whispered, trust thy Father, child.




TO THE WHIPPOWIL.

VERNAL songster, thou art here,
With the flowers thou dost appear;
Yes, sweet little Whippowil,
Thou art singing by the rill;
Where the silver moonbeam plays
Thou dost chant thy hymn of praise;
Thy shrill voice I love to hear,
And I'd have thee warble near.
Come, sweet bird, the moonlight shines
Through the verdant row of pines,






THE SNOW-DROP.


Standing by our cottage door,
Come, where thou hast sang before,
When I heard thy thrilling note
On the twilight,breezes float,
Mlig'ling with the cheerful song
Of our happy fireside throng.
Loved ones, that to me are dear,
No more tune their voices here ;
Some have sought a distant home,
Gone, 'midst other scenes to roam;
One is racked with wasting pain,
And may never sing again ;
While I hear thy feeble moan,
I can never sing alone;
Still, we welcome blooming spring,
But there's no one here to sing.
Come then, little singing bird,
Let thy cheerful voice be heard;
Come, and pour thy melting lays
Where thou didst in better days;
Strive each drooping heart to cheer,
Strive to dry the falling tear,
Strive to soothe each throbbing breast,
Hushing troubled minds to rest.






THE SNOW-DROP.


My harp is on the willows hung,
And the strings all out of tune,"

AND dost thou listen for a song,
From this frail harp, neglected long ?
My harp, alas! is drenched in tears,
Rent by contending hopes and fears.
Pale trembling fingers sweep the strings
Whene'er my muse, in sadness, sings;
For, prostrate now, before me lays
The i'lai\,*l:t, of bright joyous days;
She was my early childhood's pet,
Nor can my bleeding heart forget
That love, which has, in later years
Shared all my pastimes, hopes, and fears.
Long has pale death beside her stood,
And poured his arrows like a flood,
Whilst I have tried, with beating heart,
To steal the poison from each dart;
But oft I fear, lest these dread showers
Will baffle all our feeble powers,
And death's cold hand, will rend apart
The tie that binds her to my heart.




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