Slow as a traveller wends o'er miry ways, Whose prudent care his onward course delays, So =RICHARD JORDAN= preached; at first each word Came slowly forth, nor life nor feeling stirred; But soon, the channel cleared, the rippling flow, In freer volume swifter currents show; Bolder and higher then it gathers force, A mountain torrent rushing down its course; So =JORDAN= ministered in life's mid-day, A Boanerges thundering on his way! =BACONS= and =WILSONS=,[3] worthies not a few, Touched by love's magnet, hither often drew; =SMITH=, with his venerable locks of snow, Sedately cautious the right path to know; Devoted ministers, alas! no more, And worthy elders who the ark once bore. --When these were gone,--their bodies to the sod, Their spirits taken to their fixed abode, A cloud around our Israel's camp arose, While from our firesides started up our foes; When a bold infidel his poison spread, And with his scorpions hungry children fed;-- Another race, part of the by-gone age, Yet of the present, then employed the stage. When boding mists had gathering force and form, =RUTH RICHARDSON= was taken from the storm. True to her Master she was free to die, Yet nature shrank from the last agony: Gladly would she have left this scene of pain, The promised kingdom of her Lord to gain, But awful feelings shadowed forth the strife, The dread concomitant of parting life. Gently her spirit from its house of clay, Was sent on wings of mercy on its way. When came the pale-faced messenger to free, Her eyes were holden that she did not see. No pain--no sorrow--e'en her evening prayer, Joined with her morning hymn of glory there. She felt no agony of parting breath, Taken in kindness without tasting death!