n."

Her blooming form now stands erect,
In fair and comely robes bedecked;
Her limbs, so long with pain oppressed.
Can nimbly move or sweetly rest.

Rejoicing friends their praises sing,
To Hezekiah's bounteous king;
Well pleased, she hears their grateful songs,
And her glad voice the strain prolongs.

But sleep his downy pinions spread,
Her slumbers broke, the vision fled;
Her burning temples throbbed with pain,--
She was an invalid again.

TO A BUTTERFLY IN MY CHAMBER.

Whence art thou, frail, wand'ring stranger,
Softly flitting round my bed?
Is thy life exposed to danger?
Are thy friends and kindred dead?

Does the cold rude breath of autumn,
Chill thy little fragile form?
Hast thou come to seek a shelter
From the dreaded gath'ring storm?

Art thou now our friendship trying?
Wouldst thou test the vows we made,
When thou was so gaily flying
'Round us, 'neath the fragrant shade?

Or, wouldst thou our hearts be cheering,
Through this pensive lonely eve,
While the chilly winds are bearing
On their wings the faded leaf?

Would thou wast the Father's token,
That the sweet celestial dove,
When the golden bowl is broken,
Will support us by his love,--

Will, in that dread painful conflict,
Flit around our dying bed,
And, to fill the soul with comfort,
Whisper, "blessed are the dead."

TO THE "WILD FLOWER."[5]

I've ranged the bright streamlet in childhood's blest hour,
And culled from its borders spring's loveliest flowers,
Then bound up my bouquet, all glitt'ring with dew,
And smiled on my treasure as homeward I flew.

I've seen the sweet violet deck the green sod,
All fresh from the hand of a bountiful God,
While soft whisp'ring zephyrs breathed this in my ear,
"The wisdom of God in these blossoms appear."

I've looked on the mayflower, spring's earliest child,--
It peeped from the snowdrift and modestly smiled;
I've plucked the fair lily, arrayed in fair white,
And drank in its fragrance with heartfelt delight.

Yet blossoms that smile in the green woodland bower,
Ne'er rival this sweet intellectual flower;
This blossom sprang up from the depths of the mind,--
The heart's thrilling fibres its tendrils entwine,

Affection's pure fountain has watered the germ,
The bright sun of intellect cherished its