rry voice
Forth from those lips of rose,
As tireless through its fringing flowers
The tuneful brooklet flows,

And with the nurslings feet
Engaged in busy play
It made the parents' pleasant home
A joyance all the day.

There breath'd a languid tone
Forth from those pallid lips,
As when some planet of the night
Sinks in its dread eclipse.

"Sing to me, sing," it cried,
While the red fever reign'd,
"Oh sing of Jesus,"[1] it implored
While struggling life remained.

Then rose a mournful sound,
The solemn funeral knell,
And silent anguish settled where
The nursery's idol fell.

But he who so desired
His Saviour's name to hear
Doth in His glorious presence smile,
Above this cloud-wrapp'd sphere.

[1] His request, during his sickness was, "Sing to me of Jesus."

MISS JANE PENELOPE WHITING,

Died at Portland, Connecticut, January 1st, 1861.

I think of her unfolding prime,
Her childhood bright and fair,
The speaking eye, the earnest smile,
The dark and lustrous hair,

The fondness by a Mother's side
To cling with docile mind,
Fast in the only sister's hand
Her own forever twined,

The candor of her trustful youth,
The heart that freshly wove
Sweet garlands even from thorn-clad bowers,
Because it dwelt in love,

The stainless life, whose truth and grace
Made each beholder see
The gladness of a spirit tuned
To heavenly harmony.

But when this fair New-Year looked forth
Over the old one's grave,
While bridal pleasures neath her roof
Their bright infusion gave,

Upon the lightning's wing there came
A message none might stay,
An angel,--standing at her side.
To bear the soul away.

For us, was sorrow's startling shock,
The tear, the loss, the pain,
For her, the uncomputed bliss
Of never-ending gain.

MISS ANNA FREEMAN,

Died at Mansfield, Connecticut, February, 1861.

The world seems drearier when the good depart,
The just, the truthful, such as never made
Self their chief aim, nor strove with glozing words
To counterfeit a love they never felt;
But steadfast and serene--to Friendship gave
Its sacred scope, and ne'er from Duty shrank,
Though sternest toil and care environ it.
These, loving others better than themselves,
Fulfill the gospel rule, and taste a bliss
While here below, unknown to selfish souls,
And when they die, must find the clime where dwells
A God of truth, as tend the kindred streams
To their abs