raise their drooping lids,
And wake them to the noonday sun;
Thou canst not ope, what God hath closed,
Or cancel aught his hands have done.

But, O, there is a world within,
More bright, more beautiful than ours;
A world which, nursed by culturing hands,
Will blush with fairest, sweetest flowers.

And thou canst make that desert mind
Bloom sweetly as the blushing rose;
Thou canst illume that rayless void
Till darkness like the day-gleam glows.

. . . . . . . . . .

Thus shalt thou shed a purer ray
O'er each beclouded mind within,
Than pours the glorious orb of day
On this dark world of care and sin.

. . . . . . . . . .

And when the last dread day has come,
Which seals thine endless doom,--
When the freed soul shall seek its home,
And triumph o'er the tomb,--

When lowly bends each reverend knee,
And bows each heart in prayer,--
A band of spirits, saved by thee,
Shall plead thy virtues there."

Hitherto Margaret had sedulously avoided all conversations about her
health, and seemed unwilling to let the feeling that disease had
marked her for its victim take possession of her mind. But in the
summer of 1838, she one day surprised her mother by asking her to tell
her, without reserve, her opinion of her state. "I was," says her
mother, "wholly unprepared for this question; and it was put in so
solemn a manner, that I could not evade it, were I disposed to do so.
I knew with what strong affection she clung to life, and the objects
and friends which endeared it to her; I knew how bright the world upon
which she was just entering appeared to her young fancy--what glowing
pictures she had drawn of future usefulness and happiness. I was now
called upon at one blow to crush these hopes, to destroy the
delightful visions; it would be cruel and wrong to deceive her. In
vain I attempted a reply to her direct and solemn appeal; several
times I essayed to speak, but the words died away on my lips; I could
only fold her to my heart in silence; imprint a kiss upon her
forehead, and leave the room, to avoid agitating her with feelings I
had no power to repress."

But this silence was to Margaret as expressive as words. Religion had
always been present with her, but from this period it engrossed a
large portion of her thoughts. She regretted that so much of her time
had been spent in light reading, and that her writings had not been
of a more d