As passing years bear away the glad season of youth, and usher in
a more mature period, may the traces upon these pages bring back
pleasant recollections of dear friends, some, perchance, who may have
passed away with passing years, and the hand that now writes may be
mouldering in the dust; for disguise as we may, "it is appointed to
all men once to die." Those who live well, live in preparation for
death.
When in future years your eye glances upon this page, my prayer for
your enduring happiness will meet it. May flowers bloom beside your
pathway, that never fade.
Sweet flowers beside thy pathway
Are blooming, bright and gay,
Fann'd gently by the zephyr's wing,--
Kiss'd by the sun's warm ray.
But soon they fold their withered leaves,
And fade away and die;
But still they shed a sweet perfume,
Where fallen low they lie.
But there are flowers, perennial flowers,
That bloom within the mind:
Shedding a fragrance o'er the life,
Leaving perfume behind.
Henry, may these adorn your mind,
Religion, Virtue, Truth;
And thus diffuse their odor sweet,
O'er the glad days of youth.
They shall not fade, but brighter bloom,
As years are flitting by;--
Cast a sweet fragrance round the tomb,
And bloom in worlds on high.
Lines, Written to Mrs. S----, On the Death of Her Infant.
Thy anxious watchings now are past,
The summons has been given,
Thy gentle one has breath'd her last,
And gone from earth to heaven.
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