Meet hour for one, obedient, meek, and lowly, Wont, by command of Heaven, the day to keep, Called, at its evening, to the High and Holy, Peaceful in Jesus thus to fall asleep! Sweetly thy form, that seemed a blissful dreamer, Told, by its features, how the spirit smiled, Through the dark, shadowy vale, by thy Redeemer Led to his mansion, like a little child. Nature's full hand, that, on thy natal morning, Clothed earth to greet thee in the flowers of May, Brought them renewed; thy burial-spot adorning, When fourscore years and ten had rolled away. Now, while the robin, past the window flying, Leads off her young, forsaking here her nest, Constant the wild bird, where thy dust is lying, Sings her sweet hymn, a requiem to its rest. There has it joined the ashes of my mother, Faithful, rewedded to its only bride; And there thy latest-born, my younger brother, Thy fond heart's care, sleeps closely by her side. Yet, angel father, over Jordan's water Is it so far, that now thou canst not see Back to the shore, where lonely stands thy daughter, Sprinkling its rocks and thorns with tears for thee? Art thou so distant, visions of thy glory May not be granted to her mortal sight; When she so long watched o'er thy head so hoary, Smoothing its pillow, till that mournful night? Since here so oft, in pain, the path of duty Thy patient feet, with steady steps, have trod, Safe now they walk the golden streets in beauty; And, O! thy blessed eyes, in peace, see God! [1] A robin had, this spring, been seen taking materials from an old nest on an apple-tree near the door, and carrying them to the corner of the house, where she built on the top of the water-conductor, and close under the eaves, so near my father's chamber, that, when her brood had peeped, if the window was opened, their voices could be heard in the room, while she was feeding them. A SAGE HATH DEPARTED. The Lord, from his cloudy pavilion, hath spoken The soul to himself, and its dust to the clod; The cord He hath loosed, and the golden bowl broken, Who formed them so precious. Be still! it is God. A sage hath departed! the cities sit weeping; From land unto land does the gloom spread away. The seas give their wail to the winds o'er them sweeping-- The spirit, that spanned them, hath passed from the clay! His form, pale and cold, the dark mansion encloses; Around it, Philanthropy, Science and Art Their tears for their friend, as in death he reposes, Shower warm o'er the hand, and the head, and the heart. But there, while affection her tribute is giving, The beauty, the grandeur, the power of his mind The grave cannot hide! in his deeds he is living; He shines in the light he diffused for mankind!