ch tears as angels weep,"
Fall nightly with the glistening dew.

Thy fingers wake my youthful lyre,
And teach its softer strains to flow;
Thy spirit checks each vain desire,
And gilds the lowering brow of woe.

. . . . . . . . . .

Thou gem of light! my leading star!
What thou hast been I strive to be;
When from the path I wander far,
O, turn thy guiding beam on me.

Teach me to fill thy place below,
That I may dwell with thee above;
To soothe, like thee, a mother's woe,
And prove, like thine, a sister's love.

. . . . . . . . . .

When all is still, and fancy's realm
Is opening to the eager view,
Mine eye full oft, in search of thee,
Roams o'er that vast expanse of blue.

I know that here thy harp is mute,
And quenched the bright, poetic fire;
Yet still I bend my ear, to catch
The hymnings of thy seraph lyre.

O, if this partial converse now
So joyous to my heart can be,
How must the streams of rapture flow,
When both are chainless, both are free!--

When, borne from earth for evermore,
Our souls in sacred joy unite,
At God's almighty throne adore,
And bathe in beams of endless light!"

Although the extracts from the works of this gifted being have been so
extensive, we cannot forbear giving some portions of a piece written
about the same period, and entitled--

"AN APPEAL FOR THE BLIND.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Launched forth on life's uncertain path,
Its best and brightest gift denied,
No power to pluck its fragrant flowers,
Or turn its poisonous thorns aside;--

No ray to pierce the gloom within,
And chase the darkness with its light;
No radiant morning dawn to win
His spirit from the shades of night;--

Nature, whose smile, so pure and fair,
Casts a bright glow on life's dark stream,--
Nature, sweet soother of our care,
Has not a single smile for him.

When pale disease, with blighting hand,
Crushes each budding hope awhile,
Our eyes can rest in sweet delight
On love's fond gaze, or friendship's smile.

Not so with _him_; his soul chained down
By doubt, and loneliness, and care,
Feels but misfortune's chilling frown,
And broods in darkness and despair.

Favored by Heaven, O, haste thee on;
Thy blest Redeemer points the way;
Haste o'er the spirit's gloom to pour
The light of intellectual day.

Thou canst not