How well do I remember, the grass-plat that you made;
And studded it, with violets, beneath a plum-tree's shade;
And led me there, each sweet Spring morn, and watched me
at my play;

And taught me, at the sunset, by your knees, to kneel, and pray.

Almost threescore years, my Mother, have glided by, since then;
And, a child, in all but innocence, I kneel, by you, again:
With violets, and with pansies, I perfume the sacred sod;
While I pray for grace, to join you, in the Paradise of God.
ST. MARY'S CHURCHYARD, April 17, 1858.

THE ALL SAINTS FLOWERS,

With the Autumn leaves, from the Altar of the Chapel of St. Barnabas, were laid, by the Priest, after the service on his grand-mother's grave.

SWEET flowers upon my mother's grave,
Ye glad my eye and heart;

For ye were always her delight,
And of her life, a part.

No roses ever bloomed like hers;
No lilies were so sweet;

And pansy, jasmine, mignionette,
Ran riot, at her feet.

She treads a fairer garden now;

The Paradise of God:

And, walks, with reverent step, and slow,
Where Jesu's feet have trod;

Reclines, beside the crystal streams,

On banks of asphodel;

And, with the throng of saints, delights,

The Saviour's love, to tell.

Sweet flowers, to which, the Altar, first,

Its consecration, lent;

By filial hands, in grateful love,

So beautifully blent;

Ye mind me of my mother's care,
Which overflowed on me;

And, on my children, shed the grace,
Of its benignity.

Sweet mother, these Autumnal leaves,
With hectic beauty, bright,

Tell how, through long and lingering years,
You faded on our sight;

And, then, they tell, of that bright time,
When God, His saints shall bring;

And heaven's own beauty all, be thine—
The Resurrection Spring.

ALL SAINTS DAY, 1858.

TO MARGARET HARRISON DOANE,

BAPTIZED ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS, MDCCCLVIII.

"Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them which shall be heirs of salvation? "

MARGARET, Sweetest-that means, Pearl-
You are, now, a Christian girl;

In the pure, baptismal wave,

Sin and death have found a grave;

Through the blood of Him, who died:

Christ, for sinners, crucified.

Sweetest Margaret, darling girl,
Be, henceforth, the Saviour's pearl!
This is all the Angels' day;
Excellent, in strength are they;
Made, in Christ, salvation's heir,
You are, now, the Angels' care.

Margaret, darling, sweetest girl,
Seek, in Christ, the priceless pearl.

Be a pearl, in holiness;
Be a pearl, in preciousness;
Then, forevermore be set,
In the Saviour's coronet.

RIVERSIDE, September 29, 1858.

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS,

WITHOUT MY MOTHER.

"One who mourneth for his mother."

SWEET Mother, eight and fifty years,

Thy Christmas blessings crowned my brow; Thy seat is vacant, by my side;

And Christmas comes, without thee, now.

A shadow creeps, across my hearth;

The cypress twines the holly-bough;
I cannot frame the Christmas phrase:
For Christmas comes, without thee, now.

Along the line of threescore years,

In gifts and prayers, like tracks in snow, I trace thy ever-living love:

But Christmas comes, without thee, now.

And yet, sweet Mother, though the thought Will choke and tear, my bursting breast; And tears o'ercast this joyous day;

I would not call thec, from thy rest.

Safe in the Paradise of God,

Thy home is with the holy dead; Where Christmas boughs are ever green; And the Christ-feast is always spread.

CHRISTMAS, 1858.

END OF VOLUME I.