we may, "it is appointed to
all men once to die." Those who live well, live in preparation for
death.

When in future years your eye glances upon this page, my prayer for
your enduring happiness will meet it. May flowers bloom beside your
pathway, that never fade.

Sweet flowers beside thy pathway
Are blooming, bright and gay,
Fann'd gently by the zephyr's wing,--
Kiss'd by the sun's warm ray.

But soon they fold their withered leaves,
And fade away and die;
But still they shed a sweet perfume,
Where fallen low they lie.

But there are flowers, perennial flowers,
That bloom within the mind:
Shedding a fragrance o'er the life,
Leaving perfume behind.

Henry, may these adorn your mind,
Religion, Virtue, Truth;
And thus diffuse their odor sweet,
O'er the glad days of youth.

They shall not fade, but brighter bloom,
As years are flitting by;--
Cast a sweet fragrance round the tomb,
And bloom in worlds on high.

Lines, Written to Mrs. S----, On the Death of Her Infant.

Thy anxious watchings now are past,
The summons has been given,
Thy gentle one has breath'd her last,
And gone from earth to heaven.

Yet do not mourn that she from earth
Thus early passed away;
A pitying Saviour call'd her hence,
To realms of endless day.

And she is free from earth-born cares,
Which we must still endure;
Her little dream of life is o'er,
Her crown of glory sure.

Though icy death, like winter's shroud,
Surrounds the mould'ring tomb,
Upon the resurrection morn
Eternal spring shall bloom.

Mother of angels, softly tread,
Perchance to thee 'tis given,
To hold communings with the dead,
Who live and reign in heaven.

And as thy treasures there are laid,
There thy warm hopes will rise;
Thou hast an added golden link
To draw thee to the skies.

Thy mission is a holy one:
Thy honor'd husband stands
A watchman upon Zion's walls,
Its standard in his hands.

'Tis thine to aid the glorious work,
Thy ransom'd soul may tell
The wonders of a Saviour's love,
Who "doeth all things well."

Press onward in thy heav'nly task,
And drink in full supplies
From free Salvation's living springs,
That in the gospel rise.

God speed thee, sister, on thy way;
May many souls be giv'n
In answer to thy fervent prayers,
To form thy crown in he