future gleams of light;
I listened, and the voice of prayer
Ascended on the morning air.

'Twas then, I thought the heavenly dove
Gave us a token of his love,
For, in the western heavens, now
Appeared a bright resplendent bow.

'Twas lovely as that arch displayed
When Noah by the altar prayed;
That sacred scene could but impart
A gleam of sunshine to my heart.

O, 'twas a consecrated hour,
When, through that sweet refreshing shower
The morning sunbeams brightly smiled,
And whispered, trust thy Father, child.

TO THE WHIPPOWIL.

Vernal songster, thou art here,
With the flowers thou dost appear;
Yes, sweet little Whippowil,
Thou art singing by the rill;
Where the silver moonbeam plays
Thou dost chant thy hymn of praise;
Thy shrill voice I love to hear,
And I'd have thee warble near.
Come, sweet bird, the moonlight shines
Through the verdant row of pines,
Standing by our cottage door,
Come, where thou hast sang before,
When I heard thy thrilling note
On the twilight breezes float,
Ming'ling with the cheerful song
Of our happy fireside throng.
Loved ones, that to me are dear,
No more tune their voices here;
Some have sought a distant home,
Gone, 'midst other scenes to roam;
One is racked with wasting pain,
And may never sing again;
While I hear thy feeble moan,
I can never sing alone;
Still, we welcome blooming spring,
But there's no one here to sing.
Come then, little singing bird,
Let thy cheerful voice be heard;
Come, and pour thy melting lays
Where thou didst in better days;
Strive each drooping heart to cheer,
Strive to dry the falling tear,
Strive to soothe each throbbing breast,
Hushing troubled minds to rest.

"My harp is on the willows hung.
And the strings all out of tune,"

And dost thou listen for a song,
From this frail harp, neglected long?
My harp, alas! is drenched in tears,
Rent by contending hopes and fears.
Pale trembling fingers sweep the strings
Whene'er my muse, in sadness, sings;
For, prostrate now, before me lays
The playmate of bright joyous days;
She was my early childhood's pet,
Nor can my bleeding heart forget
That love, which has, in later years
Shared all my pastimes, hopes, and fears.
Long has pale death beside her stood,
And poured his arrows like a fl