ON SEEING A PICTURE DRAWN BY A LADY. How soft the tints, how sweet the face, How mild expression glows and beams; Beyond the fairest of our race, Beyond the most extatic dreams. No face so fair the painter knew, That glow’d with feeling so refin’d, When from abroad her eye withdrew; And found the picture in her mind. STEPHEN T HOSMER, March 7th, 1826— “When gathering clouds around I view And days are dark & friends are few; On him I lean, who not in vain Experienced every human pain; He knows my wants, allays my fears And counts & treasures all my tears. “When painful thoughts within me rise And sore dismayed, my spirit dies, Yet he who once vouchsafed to bear The sickening anguish of dispair, Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. “When sorrowing o’er some stone I bend, That covers all that was a friend, And from his love, his voice, his smile Divides me for a little while; Thou Saviour mark’st the tears I shed For thou didst weep o’er Laz’rus dead “And Oh! when I have safely past Through every conflict, but the last, Still, still unchanging watch beside My painful bed—for thou hast died, Then point to realms of endless day, And wipe the _latest_ tear away Your sincere friend H. BEECHER May you my dear Mary, when delighted you stray, Where the beams of the West, shed a bright genial ray Remember the friends, you have loved in your youth, Whose bosoms still glow, with affection and truth. May the home you shall choose, and the new friends you find, Be as constant and faithful, as tender and kind, And may you to them, be a pearl of great price, The supporter of Truth, the suppressor of vice. And when Time, shall have sprinkled your tresses with snow, May the Sun of religion, cast such light on your brow, So placid and lovely, so pure and benign, That the beauties of youth, all with pleasure resign, And when over your grave, is placed the green sod, May the tears of the poor, the regrets of the good, Pay a tribute of praise, to your mem’ry more dear, Than is paid to the hero, or statesman’s proud bier When the last solemn trumpet, resounds thro’ the skies, May the friends of your heart, with the Saviour arise, And join the bless’d throng, assembled above In the region of holiness, glory, and Love S PIERCE