And some of them patched along,
And some of them not any better at all,
But I am dreadful wore down with long sickness.

A common thing in my sickness,
Milk my cow, take care of my hens,
In such misery, I felt as if I must fall at every step,
But I must do it, I must do it.

Oh, Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be.
If when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee.

When sore afflictions press me down,
I need thy quickning powers,
Thy word that I have rested on,
Shall help my heaviest hours.

POOR LITTLE HEARTS.

A sketch of two Poor little Banties,
They died with old age, over twelve years ago,
Poor little Ada Queetie died over thirteen years ago, in 1858.
Poor little Beauty Linna died over twelve years ago, in 1859.
O my Poor deceased little Ada Queetie,
She knew such a sight, and her love and mine,
So deep in our hearts for each other,
The parting of her and her undergoing sickness and death,
O heart rending!

She and I could never part,
Do consider the night I was left,
What I underwent, no tongue could express,
Weeping the whole night through.

Poor little Ada Queetie's sickness and death,
Destroyed my health at an unknown rate,
With my heart breaking and weeping,
I kept fire going night after night, to keep Poor little
dear warm,
I kept getting up nights to see how she was,
And see what I could do for her.

Three her last days and nights,
She breathed the breath of life here on earth,
She was taken down very sick, then I was up all night long,
The second night I was up till I was going to fall,
Then I fixed her in her box warm, close by the fire,
Put warm clothes under, over and around,
And left fire burning and lay down, with all my clothes on,
A very little while, and got up and up all the time.
The third night I touched no bed at all,
Poor little heart, she was struck with death at half past
eleven o'clock.
She died in my arms at twelve o'clock at night, O heart rending!
I could been heard to the road, from that time till daylight,
No tongue could express my misery of mind.
She had more than common wit,
And more than common love,
Her heart was full of love for me,
O do consider my Poor little heart.

She was my dear