season of grief;
Who flies from the brow that is darken'd by care,
And the silence that looks for relief.

Not the friend who suspicious of change or of guile,
Would shrink from a confidence free;
Nor him who with fondness complacent can smile,
On the eye that looks coldly on me.

"As the mirror that's just to each blemish or grace,
To myself will my image reflect;
But to none but myself will that image retrace,
Nor picture one absent defect."

To myself let my friend be a mirror as true,
Thus my faults from all others conceal,
Nor ever when absent those foibles renew,
"That from heav'n and from man he should veil."

TO MARIA.

If sense and complacence their charms combine,
To make each grace with double lustre shine--
If mind serene, and innocently gay,
Makes life compare with an unclouded day:

And piety thy guide, whose gentle pow'r,
To calm each thought, and brighten ev'ry hour;
Then thou, Maria, much esteem'd must be,
These happy traits are all combined in thee.

THE SUN.

Splendid orb of living light,
That wakes the world from silent night,
Still warm this dark opaque domain,
Thou brightest of the solar train.
"When the soft cooling show'r descends,
And to the earth its moisture lends."
When murky clouds obscure thy way,
And part exclude thee from the day,
Ah, yet again wilt thou revive,
And o'er the globe thy lustre give;
Yet shall thy beams "from day to day,
The great Creator's power display;"
And thy resistless radiant blaze,
"In silent fervour muse his praise."

THE VOICE OF TIME.

Did we e'er mark the budding rose,
And see its fragrant sweets disclose,
Observe it grow from day to day,
Till full perfection crowned the spray.
Then straight we see it fade apace,
And lose each vivifying grace;
And ev'ry balmy leaf we find,
Is shortly given to the wind.
Watch, then, says Time, each hour you live,
Nor with ill deeds my spirit grieve;
From first beginning is my birth,
And for your good, ye sons of earth;
O, fill the Father's high behest,
And lead the way to heav'nly rest;
For all below must soon decay,
And, like the rose, must pass away.

In Memory

of

MRS. WILLIAM RICHARDS.

Where late was gladness, when the morn arose.
And cheerful musing, on the evening's close,
Serenest pleasure dwelt with gentle sway,
And peaceful slumber close