Hope pencilled, too, the sheltering port
Where parted spirits meet again.

"Oh! I would drain the bitter cup
To him in boundless mercy given,
A glorious Sabbath-day to win
Of never-ending rest in Heaven.

"Come, sister, let us follow him,
Though rugged was the path he trod;
'Twill lead us to the 'saints in light,'
'Twill lead us to our father's God."

1828. E. P. K.

ON THE DEATH OF MY UNCLE, JOSEPH PAUL.

Fare thee well, fare thee well, for thy journey is o'er,
And the place that has known thee, shall know thee no more;
The eye that has seen thee, shall seek thee in vain,
And thy kindness will soothe us, oh, never again!
Yet we cannot forget thee, for, shrined in the heart,
Is the memory of virtues that will not depart,--
Generosity, candor, integrity, worth,
An assemblage of all that is lovely on earth.
Thou wert guardian, guide, and instructor to me,
And I lose, with thy children, a father in thee.
Thy children, alas! they are orphans indeed.
Who now shall direct them in seasons of need?
The smile that has blest them will bless them no more,
And approval and counsel forever are o'er.
But the angel of mercy recorded thy prayers,
And in gloom and in sunshine _thy_ God will be _theirs_.

1828. E. P. K.

SPRING.

Oh! the world looks glad, for the spring has smiled,
And the birds are come with their "wood-notes wild,"
And the waters leap with a joyous sound,
Like freedom's voice when a chain's unbound.

And soon with its bloom will the earth be gay,
For the air is bland as the breath of May;
Sunshine and buds and all glorious things
Will give to the hours their downiest wings.

Nature has burst from her wintry tomb,
Wreathed with the glory of brightening bloom;
Fetters of frost-work are gently unbound,
Blossoms and flowers are clustering round.

Bosoms that know not the blighting of care,
Sunshine and gladness may smilingly wear;
But for the broken and desolate heart
Springtime, alas! has no balm to impart.

Tones that are hushed it awakens no more;
"Friends that are gone" it can never restore;
Yet e'en to the mourner one hope it may bring,
'Tis the type of Eternity's glorious spring.

1829. E. P. K.

OH, FOR A HO