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MARGARET AND HENRIETTA FLOWER.

11 They were lovely and pleasant in their lives :—
And in their death they were not divided."

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY PERKINS, MARVIN, <fc CO.

PHILADELPHIA :
HENRY PERKINS.

1835.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835,

By Perkins, Marvin, & Co.

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

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INTRODUCTION.

By the Rev. Mr. Stone,
Rector of St. Paul's Church, Boston.

Of all the endeavors to do religious good to the
millions of our land, that of preparing salutary spiritual
food for infant and youthful minds, holds, it may be
safely said, without a rival, the first rank in impor-
tance. Whoever endeavors to hold up, or to aid,
however feebly, in holding up before the myriads of
American children, a faithful picture of the moral and
religious character of those, who from their own ranks,
have been made subjects of early renewing and sancti-
fying grace, and who, thus prepared, have been early
taken to heaven, in the garniture of their shining and
beautiful robes of holiness, does at least attempt that,

4

which, rightly and successfully done, must confer in-
calculably precious benefits on the land of our affec-
tions.

That the ensuing memoirs will prove highly success-
ful labors in this department of religious literature, the
present writer can hardly doubt. Their delineations of
moral and religious character are not overwrought pic-
tures of mere imagination, but portraitures touched with
the pure colors of truth and faithfulness to nature.
They are delineations of just such characters as have
been not infrequently seen, as we should always love
to see, in the children of our country. Obedience to
parents from a principle of filial love ; guileless and
glowing sisterly affection ; a holy regard for truth ; a
sacred tenderness to the reputations of others ; a love
of goodness and of the good for their own loveliness'
sake ; unwearied industry and unspotted cleanliness of
habits ; a quick sensibility of heart to the power of
divine truth ; a quenchless thirst for sacred knowledge ;
beautifully clear perceptions of the gospel method of
salvation ; pure love for God ; simple faith in Christ ;
unostentatious humility of mind ; — such are some of
the most conspicuous traits of character in those lovely

specimens of childlike mind, which Mrs. Sigourney
here holds up to view ; and which, if drawn in faith-
ful resemblances on the characters of all our children,
would make the future destiny of our land brightly
illustrious for every good. The course of the memoirs
too, abounds with passages of moral power, which
touch as with a charmer's hand, the best springs of
action, and open, with sweet resistlessness, the deep
clear fountains of religious sensibility within us.

That the characters here delineated with such beau-
tiful fidelity to nature, were actually the characters of
the interesting children, to whom they are ascribed,
the writer is fully satisfied. — Margaret and Hen-
rietta almost grew up under the eye of her who has
sketched their lovely portraits. She had the originals
glowingly present to her thought, when she drew their
likenesses. With only one of them, indeed, was the
writer of this personally acquainted. His acquaint-
ance with that one, however, enables him to bear
testimony to the striking fidelity to truth of the account
here given of her. He well remembers the feelings
with which his first and subsequent visits to her, in-
spired his mind. He was convinced from the first,

that he had before him no ordinary character, whether
as to natural endowments, or as to attainments in reli-
gion. Even through the dim and silent light which
pervaded her apartment, he could easily trace, among
her pale and emaciated features, a countenance strongly
intellectual ; while on its aspect there was reposing an
expression of calm, resigned, and heavenly patience,
mingled, indeed, with tokenings of an inward emotion,
plainly of a somewhat painful nature. The cause of
this, conversation soon developed. It was a sense of
her sinfulness in the sight of a pure and holy God ;
and an intense anxiety to know " what she should do
to be saved." Yes; a child, wThose natural character,
he knew, had from infancy been one of even peculiar
loveliness, and to whose mind he had never had an op-
portunity of addressing a single consideration from the
truths of the Bible, lay before him in all the calm con-
sciousness of an unimpaired intellect of no secondary
order, and yet under a solemnly impressed sense of
sinfulness in the sight of God, and under a deeply ex-
cited desire to learn how she might be reconciled to
Him. These things, too clearly for the admission of
a doubt in his mind, came from no other source than

the inward revealings of the Spirit of God, applying
the religious instructions of her earlier childhood, and
showing her, that, lovely as the natural character may
be in its relations to kindred character here, there is
still in the loveliest a deep seated alienation of the
heart from God, a want of affiliated confidence in, and
love for a heavenly Father, and a consequent need of
reconciliation to him, and of preparedness, by renew-
ing and sanctifying grace, for the society of his holy
and heavenly family. He therefore proceeded to
open to her understanding the gospel way of salvation ;
of pardon through faith in the atonement of Christ ;
and of the "new birth unto righteousness" through
the influences of the Holy Spirit. Her deeply atten-
tive and solemn listenings to these instructions were
truly impressive ; and, after commending her in prayer
to God, her Father, Saviour, Sanctifier, he took his
leave, persuaded that he had been enjoying the high
and blessed privilege of ministering to one, who was
soon to become one of the youthful " heirs of sal-
vation."

This persuasion was delightfully confirmed at his
next interview with her j when almost her first ques-

8

tion was, " How may I know, sir, that I have been
born again ? " As he proceeded to lay before her
the various marks of a truly renewed mind, he remem-
bers well with what ready promptness, and with what
serious emphasis, she answered the following question.
" Suppose, dear Margaret, the choice were to be given
you, either to die now, with your present views, hopes,
and feelings, or to regain your health, and grow up a
thoughtless and vain, though amiable child of a fash-
ionable world : — which would you choose ? " With
scarce a moment for consideration, yet as though her
whole soul were going up to God in the decision, she
replied, " Let me die now"

At his next interview with her, the slightly painful
expression of her countenance was gone ; a sweet
peace with God had spread itself, in visible utterances,
over her speaking features ; she expressed it to him
in words ; and he felt that his own spirit could hold
communion with hers in a foretaste of that " peace of
God which passing all understanding " here, shall be
both eternal and fully comprehended hereafter.

Throughout his subsequent pastoral intercourse with
her, her Christian character unfolded itself in mcreas-

ingly just and beautiful proportions, leaving no reason-
able doubt that it was rapidly becoming as rare a
demonstration of the renewing grace of God in the
mind of childhood, as her natural character was of that
heavenly skill, which had given it its exquisite mould-
ing and tempering. When, therefore, after her re-
moval from Boston to Hartford, he learned the fact of
her decease, he was prepared for the accompanying
account of her character and course of life in full ;
while the evident imbodying of truth which it con-
tained, gave a ready entrance into his belief to the
conclusion that the connected sketch of her sister's life
and character was equally faithful to the verity of
facts.

He regards with special interest the publication of
volumes like the present, from the persuasion which
rests on his mind, that the ministers and members of
the religious denomination to which he belongs, have
not felt, so generally as they ought to have done, the
practicability and importance of very early conversions
to God. The capabilities of the mind of childhood,
both in its affections and in its understanding, for re-
ceiving adequate and permanent religious impressions,

10

is but beginning to receive its just share of attention
amongst us. If, therefore, the little book, to which
he has been permitted to prefix these observations,
should be made instrumental, as he thinks it is calcu-
lated to aid, in suitably impressing our minds on this
subject ; if it should be the means in any good degree,
of leading our religious teachers, whether in the pulpit,
in the Bible class, or in the Sunday school, to labor
and pray more unweariedly and more believingly for
the early renewal and sanctification of those precious
little immortals, of whom they have the charge for
religious education ; he cannot but think that it will
have well filled its place, — that it will have pro-
moted an object of infinite moment.

Boston. December 2, 1834.

MEMOIR.

Margaret and Henrietta Flower, the
only children of their parents who survived
infancy, were born at Hartford, Connecticut :
— the eldest, September 16th, 1319, — the
youngest, August 1st, 1822.

They early displayed affectionate disposi-
tions, and good powers of mind. Their love
of books, revealed itself in infancy. As soon
as they were capable of receiving instruction,
their parents were anxious to give them an
excellent education.

Margaret, being three years older than her
sister, was able first to attend school. She

12

was attentive to the wishes of her teachers,
and so fond of study, that there was no need
of urging her to application. It was evident
that she possessed brilliant talents, and pur-
sued knowledge for the love of it. She often
asked for longer lessons than were given her,
and was faithful to learn thoroughly all that
were appointed.

To her Bible-lessons, she devoted particular
attention. When they were long, or required
a comparison of different parts, she was never
fatigued with the labor thev occasioned, nor
satisfied until she perfectly understood them.
Thus she obtained a knowledge of scripture,
very remarkable for her years, and which
continued with her to the end of her life.

Her recitations in History, were distin-
guished by clearness and excellence. She
would render the substance of her lessons, in
her own language, with great propriety and
elegance. This she was able to do, with far

13

less study than is usually required. In all
her studies, she displayed wonderful correct-
ness. Her handwriting was very neat and
beautiful. Of music she was exceedingly fond,
and excelled in its performance. Though, in
the progress of her education, it was soon
discovered that she possessed brilliant talents,
she was not inclined to be either vain or indo-
lent. Because she could acquire knowledge,
with more ease than most of her companions,
she did not boast of her quickness of percep-
tion. She was industrious, and patient, and
obedient.

In school, she was desirous to select asso-
ciates who were attentive to their studies.
She requested her instructress that her seat
might be wTith those, who set a good example.
If all children were equally anxious to associate
only with the good, how much folly and sorrow
would be spared them. At the time when im-
pressions are most easily made, and while the

14

influence of young companions is greater than
even that of parents or teachers, little Mar-
garet exemplified that precept of the book
which she loved, " He that walketh with wise
persons shall be wise."

She was distinguished by a sacred regard
to truth. By the excellent system of Miss
Draper, of whose Seminary she was a mem-
ber, this tenderness of conscience was culti-
vated. To the daily requisition that the
scholars should report any violation of the
rules into which they had fallen, she was
strictly attentive. That they might be taught
to avoid evil-speaking, and to cherish feelings
of benevolence to all, the inquiry was often
made, if they had spoken to the disadvantage
of any one. Her sincerity on this point, was
often affecting. When she could not recollect
any word that had expressed unkindness, she
would be fearful that even by some change of
countenance, or motion of the head, she might

15

have injured the feelings of some person, or
agreed in opinion with those who were blamin^
the absent, and would ask her preceptress with
much earnestness, " Was that to the disadvan-
tage of another?" So anxious was she always
to do right. She carried the principle of
fidelity into every thing. She kept a journal
of her progress in study, and the manner in
which she spent her time. It proves her dili-
gence, and the care with which she obeyed
the regulations of the school. One of its
rules, was to spend two hours every evening,
in studying at home. On one occasion she
writes with her usual integrity and simplicity,
" I do not know whether to record it as a
violation or not, but my studies are not hard
enough to occupy me two hours."

By her journal it appears that she was in
the habit of early rising. Once she writes,
" This morning it was so very cold, that I was
tempted to lie in bed. But thinking it a good

16

opportunity to practise self-denial, I sprang
up, and was dressed by a quarter past six.
My lessons were perfect to-day. 1 do not
recollect any violations. I shall say nothing
about spring, the poet's season, until it comes.
As yet the earth is covered with snow, and
the buds think best to keep concealed a little
longer in their winter-retreats. It is well —
for if they did but look forth, they would be
frozen. I am glad that they have so much
prudence, about taking colds and consump-
tions. Would that every mortal had as much.17
The handwriting of this journal, from its
neatness and beauty, would scarcely seem to
be the production of a child of ten years.
Thus it also was with her books of poetical
extracts, which show both her diligence, and
her advanced taste in selection. Notwith-
standing her attention to her studies, she
found time to read. She read with great
rapidity. Her mother would sometimes say,

17

" Margaret, I fear you can scarcely have
understood the book, you have finished so
quickly." But she would convince her by
a particular account of its contents, and by
repeating from memory such passages as she
most admired, that she had not carelessly
perused it. She was accustomed to commit
to writing, her recollections of the sermons
she heard. Her mind was continually active,
and in search of improvement.

So anxious was she to keep up with her
classes at school, that when she was indis-
posed, she obtained information of the daily
lessons, and diligently learned them. During
a period of confinement to the house, she felt
it as a great obligation that Miss Draper occa-
sionally came and heard her recitations. She
thanked her with the utmost gratitude, and
numbered it among the causes which called
forth her affection to her instructress, an
2

18

affection that was fully appreciated and re-
turned.

She cherished a deep sense of the worth of
time. She had also a love of order, and used
to devote particular hours to particular em-
ployments. She often wrote resolutions for
the division of her time, and the regulation of
her conduct. Papers like the following, were
sometimes found by her mother, though it was
her wish rather to conceal, than to display
them.

" Rise at half past five. Take care of the
rooms. Sew, until two hours from that time.
Practise on my piano, one hour, then study
one hour. Work till three in the afternoon,
then practise an hour, and study an hour, re-
serving time for exercise."

This was written during a vacation from
school, and will show how desirous she was
to mark by diligence, that time which young

19

people are apt to feel should be devoted en-
tirely to recreation.

Her mind was disposed to receive and en-
courage religious impressions. A perusal of
the memoirs of Miss Sophia Luce, a young
lady, distinguished for piety, and whose death
was eminently happy, awakened her to great
depth and tenderness of feeling, at an early
age. She, and her little sister, would often
read it in solitude, with serious meditation.
Once, after contemplating this example of
early piety, she wrote the following short
prayer.

" Oh ! may my life be like hers, and when
my earthly pilgrimage is over, may He who
reigns forever, take me to his bosom."

She was often in the habit of writing in
her books, with a pencil, some serious and
appropriate sentiment. These were usually
passages of scripture. In some she wTrote, —

" Lay not up for yourselves treasures on

20

earth. " In others, the chosen motto would
be, " Seek first the kingdom of God, and his
righteousness. "

Her Polyglott Bible has written on its blank
page the following selection.

"Search the scriptures. From a child, thou
hast known the holy scriptures, which are
able to make thee wise unto salvation. Re-
member now thy Creator, in the days of thy
youth. Seek the Lord, while he may be
found, call upon him while he is near. This
is a faithful saying, and worthy of all accepta-
tion, that Jesus Christ came into the world to
save sinners."

Though she studied her Bible so much, and
became so familiar with its contents, she pre-
served it with such reverent care, that it has
the appearance of a new, unsullied volume.
She was remarkable for care of all her books.
Those which she used for years, have not the
slightest mark of injury, or neglect. Her

21

school books have neither blot, or leaf turned
down, or cover broken. She was very differ-
ent from those children, who think it no harm
to deface, destroy, or lose them. Her love of
knowledge led her to respect the pages where
it was inscribed.

In neatness, and care of her clothes, she
was equally exemplary. She repaired, and
kept her garments in beautiful order, and wore
them a long time, without injury. In the use
of the needle, she was highly accomplished.
She did not make her studies an excuse for
the neglect of it. It delighted her, that she
could thus be useful to her dear mother. If
there was any work of a peculiarly delicate or
difficult nature, she desired that it might be
given to her. When there was an occasional
recess from school, the record often occurs
in her journal, " Spent the day in working."
She did not think any thing tedious, or un-
worthy of her attention, that entered into

22

the duty of a female. She showed as much
patience, and capability of excelling, in darning
a torn garment, as in solving a problem of
Euclid. She was pleased that needlework
formed a part of the stated employments, at
the select school of Miss Marston, in Quincy,
Massachusetts, of which she was for a time,
a member. Here also, her proficiency in
study, and consistent goodness, made her a
favorite with her teachers, and gained the love
of strangers. Miss Marston thus mentions her
in a letter.

" At the early age of eleven years, we dis-
covered that she possessed an unusual share
of intelligence, and goodness of heart. 1 well
remember the pleasure with which she pur-
sued her studies, and the great facility with
which she acquired her lessons. This was
particularly the case in History — so much so,
that I placed her in the class with the eldest

23

young ladies in school, by none of whom
was she excelled in her acquirements in this
branch. They have often assured me, that
while they were obliged to devote every mo-
ment of the time allotted them for the pur-
pose, to prepare themselves for recitation,
little Margaret would, after a few minutes5
attention, be perfectly at leisure ; and I do
not recollect, that she was ever deficient.
On one occasion, I remember, that when she
had recited, with even more than her usual
success, I discovered she had read the lesson
only once, and that, the day before. The
manner of her recitations, was also particu-
larly pleasing, giving the substance of the
whole, in her own correct and perspicuous
language. Indeed, the propriety of her ex-
pressions was observable on all occasions, as
well as her distinct utterance, and correct
pronunciation. These qualifications, together
with her quick apprehension of the sense of

24

an author, rendered her also, one of the best
readers I have ever known, of her age. My
father, who always took the liveliest interest
in the improvement of my pupils, would gen-
erally question them, as we sat at breakfast,
on the subject of their morning lessons, and
we were ever gratified by the readiness and
elegance of Margaret's replies."

How much ought the commendation of
teachers to be prized, and sought after, by
children. Their favorable testimony seems to
give promise, that the future duties of life will
be well performed. Those who are enjoying
the benefits of a good education, should strive
to gain the affection of their teachers. They
should avoid giving them trouble, and listen
respectfully to all their instructions. They
should regard them as benefactors, and re-
member them with gratitude. Thus, they

25

will be beloved as Margaret was, by all who
had the superintendence of her studies.

But we must now turn from the contem-
plation of her excellence as a scholar ; — and
view her in sickness and affliction. Early in
the autumn of 1833, she was taken ill, while
in Boston, of a typhus fever. Some extracts
from letters to her father, written by her
mother, who went on to attend her in sick-
ness, give a clear description of her state of
mind.

"Boston, Sept. 2G, 1833.
"At my arrival, I found our dear Margaret
very low. She seems much comforted at my
coming, and is all love and tenderness to her
friends. She says, ' I used to dream I was
with my dear parents, but awoke to find
it was all a dream.' Her patience is sur-
prising. She takes her medicines with great
readiness. She often speaks of home, her

26

dear home. Oh, that she might recover, once
more to reach it."

" Sept. 28,

" Our dear child is very ill to-day. Dr.

does not hesitate to say she is dangerous, and
has called a consulting physician. She yes-
terday, of her own accord, requested me to
send for the Rev. Mr. Croswell. She wished
him to pray with her. We sent, but found
that he was out of town. She remarked, that
if he did not return soon, it would be too late.
She asked if the doctor considered her dan-
gerous. I replied that there was always
danger in fever, and inquired what would be
her feelings, were she called to die. She
answered, 'I do not feel afraid to die. I
believe I shall be happy. I believe Christ
has died to save me. I know that I have
sinned, and am not good enough to be saved.
But God can pardon me for Jesus' sake.'

27

Then, with tears streaming down her cheeks,
repeated,

* There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign,
Eternal day excludes the night, ■

And pleasures banish pain/

In compliance with her desire, I sent for the
Rev. Mr. Stone, of St. Paul's church. His
conversation was very solemn, and adapted to
her situation. She listened with the deepest
attention, and fixed her expressive eyes upon
him, every moment he was speaking. He
prayed with her, and after he went out, she
exclaimed, ' O, what a prayer /' "

"Sept. 30.

" Dear Margaret is no better. Her suffer-
ings are very great. She is constantly re-
peating some appropriate text of scripture. I
had no idea she was so conversant with her

28

Bible. Miss I. H. tells me, she never knew
a young person so attached to a Bible and
prayer-book, as she has been during the sum-
mer. The Rev. Mr. Stone visits her every
day. She asked him this morning, how we
could know if our hearts were changed. He
explained it to her understanding, and asked
her many questions. He afterwards remarked
to me, that her answers were perfectly satis-
factory, and that he believed she had expe-
rienced that change. She observed, that she
could not bear her sufferings, were it not for
her love to God, and his word. The sim-
plicity and sincerity of her manner, is Yery
striking.

" A lady, who was a resident in the house,
kindly wished to cheer one of the intervals of
languor, that attended her sickness, by dis-
playing to her some rich ornaments, and curi-
osities from South America. She was grateful
for the attention, and for a short time seemed

29

to be amused. At length, casting her eyes
upon a watch, she laid aside the other articles,
and taking it in her hand, said, c They are very
pretty, but this is useful. Mother, if I get
well, will you get me a watch, that I may
consider the value of time? n She expressed
a wish that this might remain by her. But
the next day, she returned it to the lady,
saying, f I do not wish it any longer. It can
do me no good, for I feel that I must now
place my mind on things beyond time.'1 "

We are permitted to make extracts from
a letter of the same lady, who often saw her
during her sickness.

"Her very affectionate and interesting man-
ner towards those who attended her, always
attracted my attention. Not the slightest
office was disregarded by her. Even now, I
fancy that I hear her sweet, submissive voice,

30

answering, ' O yes,5 to the frequent questions
of the nurse, ' Will you take this medicine,
Margaret ? it is time.' Not only did her
words evince her willingness, but her counte-
nance was marked with meekness and con-
fidence towards those around. How often,
when I have observed the anxiety of parents
for the education and appearance of their
children, have her earnest words returned to
my remembrance. ' Mother, you have been
too, too anxious for my body. My poor soul
has not been enough considered. Only think
what it is worth ! I feel that I shall die soon.
What must become of me, if my peace is not
made with God ? O mother, pray for me.
Read to me. Comfort me if you can, but do
not encourage me, if there is no hope. Do
send for a minister of Christ, and let him
teach me the way of salvation. Through the
merits and mercy of my Saviour, I must be
saved, if at all. I have nothing to oifer, but a

31

wicked heart. Do you think, mother, God
will hear me, if I pray ?'

" I saw her the day after the service for the
sick had been read to her by the Rev. Mr.
Stone. Her mother had gone to lay down.
I ventured into the room, unperceived by
Margaret. She had prevailed upon the person
who attended her, to turn the corner of the
curtain so as to admit a little light. Her pale,
wan face, was bent over her little prayer-
book, the constant companion of her pillow,
with an almost unearthly interest. Observing
that the type was small, I asked her if there
was net some other book, of a coarser print,
that she would like. She mildly, but de-
cisively answered, i No? and immediately
placed it under her pillow, still continuing
to hold it with her hand. At times she ap-
peared entirely to forget her own sufferings,
in anxiety for her absent sister."

32

It has already been mentioned that her
affection for her only sister, was exceedingly
ardent, and seemed to have some mixture of
a mother's tenderness. The last letter that
she ever wrote, was to her. It was dated
from Boston, a short time before she was
taken sick. It expressed her delighted antici-
pation of returning home, and the pleasure
she promised herself from playing again to her
sister, on their favorite piano. It closes with
the simply affectionate precept, "Be a good
little girl."

Margaret still continued dangerously sick.
Her father came on, and watched day and
night by the side of his child. The fever at
length seemed to yield. But her constitution
was exhausted, and symptoms of consumption
appeared. A violent and fatal cough seized
her, which no skill could cure. Every effort
to save her, was made by the most eminent
physicians. Dr. Jackson advised that her

33

removal to Hartford should be attempted. She
sustained the journey far better than was ex-
pected. The return to her dear home, and
the meeting with her beloved sister, lighted up
her emaciated countenance with its wonted
expression of joy. During the whole winter,
the hopes and fears of those most interested
in her recovery, prevailed by turns. She
frequently expressed her entire resignation to
the will of her Father in heaven. Notwith-
standing her pain was often great, she spoke
of the peace and satisfaction that reigned in
her heart. One night she exclaimed, as if in
ecstasy, " O, I am so happy ! 55 Her mother
inquired, " What makes you happy, my love ?55
11 God makes me happy,55 she replied. " I feel
that peace which passeth all understanding.55
Her weakness was extreme, and her cough
exceedingly severe. " Dear mother,55 she
would often say, " you don5t know how much
I feel, but I cannot talk.55 There was at no
3

34

period of her distressing illness, any wandering
of mind, or failure of intellect.

The last day of her life found her calm
and placid. In the afternoon, those who sur-
rounded her remarked, that her eyes had an
unusual, and unearthly brightness. They were
raised upward, as if following and fixing on
some delightful object. Her dearest friends
were anxious to know what passed in her
mind, but forebore to ask her any questions.
They dreaded lest the action of her voice
should bring on a convulsive turn of coughing,
which she seemed not to have strength to
endure. She was emaciated almost to a
shadow. Yet with surprising command over
the pencil, she traced with her wasted hand,
the following lines on a slip of paper. " Dear
mother, since my voice is too weak for you
to hear me plainly, suppose I write down
my wishes, and show them to you?" Then
follows on another paper, the whole of the

35

Lord's prayer, written fairly, and legibly ; a
precious testimony that her parting thoughts
were employed in communing with her Maker.
Margaret had always a great fondness for
such poetry as conveyed pious sentiments, and
enforced the shortness of life. It was pecu-
liarly affecting to the heart of a mother, who
watched all these developments of mind with
inexpressible interest, to find after her death,
the following lines in the pocket of one of her
dresses, which she had worn at school, during
her last absence from the paternal roof.

AT MUSING HOUR.
By T. Wells.

At musing hour of twilight gray,

W7hen silence reigns around,
I love to walk the church-yard way:

To me 'tis holy ground.

36

To me, congenial is the place,
Where yew and cypress grow ;

I love the moss-grown stone to trace,
That tells who lies below.

And, as the lonely spot I pass

Where weary ones repose,
I think, like them, how soon, alas!

My pilgrimage will close.

Like them, I think, when I am gone,

And soundly sleep as they,
Alike unnoticed and unknown

Shall pass my name away.

Yet, ah ! — and let me lightly tread !

She sleeps beneath this stone,
That would have soothed my dying bed,

And wept for me when gone !

Her image 'tis — to memory dear —
That clings around my heart,

And makes me fondly linger here,
Unwilling to depart.

37

From the conversation of those around her,
she understood that her sister was ill. She
anxiously requested her father to go immedi-
ately to her, and continued to inquire re-
specting her, of every one who entered the
room. When he returned to her bedside, he
asked, " Shall I pray with you, my child?"
She replied, " Not now, dear father, I have
just been praying for myself.55 This was her
last day on earth, — Monday, February 24th,
1834. '

Henrietta was taken suddenly ill, on the
Saturday night previous to the death of her
sister. During Sunday, she scarcely left her
bed. The next day, the attack, which was
violent bleeding at the nose, was repeated. It
seemed to exhaust all her strength. Through
the winter she had been bright and blooming,
and worn the appearance of perfect health.
Now, she was changed, as if the seal of death

38

had been set upon her. As soon as she could
move, she desired to be led to her sister's
apartment. She was indulged. She stood
close by her bed. They looked long, and
tenderly at each other. But they spoke not.
Those who saw that fixed gaze, in which
soul seemed to mingle with soul, can never
forget it. It was the parting of the sisters.
The scene cannot be described in words.
Those affectionate beings realized that they
were to meet no more on earth. Did their
pale and beautiful lips exchange an unspoken
promise, soon to meet in heaven ?

The gentle and fragile Henrietta was led
from the room of her dying sister. " She
will soon be clothed in white robes, and strike
a harp of gold," said she meekly. It was
repeated to Margaret. Her reply was a look
of inexpressible delight. For the few hours
of life that remained to her, she lay tranquil,
and at peace. It would seem, from the bright-

39

ness that past over her countenance, that she
was contemplating the bliss of angels. Those
who best loved her, feared to interrupt the
happiness of that holy vision. They left the
pure spirit free to converse with Him, to
whom it was ascending. It preferred to keep
silence, and to pause from the language of
earth, ere it entered upon that full burst of
melody, which hath no end. That night, it
was said of her, in the whispered tones of her
hushed apartment, and in bursts of grief that
could not be controlled, She is dead. But
was there not joy in the court of heaven, be-
cause another soul was added to their blissful
company ?

The lone and mournful Henrietta, was able
to attend the funeral of her sister. She stood
by her open grave, and looked steadfastly into
it. She attended church, the following Sab-
bath, and mingled her prayers with those of
her afflicted parents.

40

She complained not. She concealed her
own grief, lest she should add to the sorrow
of her parents. She lifted up her head, like
some drooping lily, to take gratefully the dew
and the sunbeam which God reserved for it.

For a few weeks, she enjoyed a comfortable
degree of health. The delicacy and loveliness
of her appearance at this time, attracted every
eye. Though she had attained the age of
eleven years, there was about her a simplicity,
a winning, affectionate manner, which seemed
to betoken the innocent beauty of an earlier
period of life. She possessed one of the most
gentle and amiable dispositions. From child-
hood, if there was any complaint or trouble
among her companions, she was always dis-
posed to make peace. She would excuse
their faults, as for as was in her power, and
speak without disguise of her own. She could
not bear to hear others blamed. She even
preferred to take blame upon herself. She

41

shrank at the thought of giving pain to any
human being.

Like her sister, she was remarkable for
neatness and love of order, for care over her
books, for keeping in its proper place every
article committed to her charge, and for that
kind deportment to domestics, which gained
their love in return.

When she was able to attend school, she
invariably called forth the attachment of her
teachers. A young lady, who had for a time,
the direction of her studies, writes, " I was
delighted with her docility and sweet man-
ners. I used to think there was an unearthly
loveliness about her, and said to her mother,
that she must not expect to retain her long.
She seemed, even then, allied to an angelic
nature.55

The sweet smile that played around her
features when she spoke, will not soon be
forgotten by those who knew her. " She was

42

like a beautiful vision," said a friend — " the
cast of her countenance was such, as one
might easily fancy a cherub to be — such as
I have never before seen belonging to a being
of earth. And that her face was a faithful
index of her heart, all who knew her gen-
tleness and loveliness, will most readily ac-
knowledge."

She was distinguished by filial obedience,
and love of truth. No higher testimony to
the excellence of these sisters need be added,
than the assurance of both their parents, that
they never knew either of them ivilfully to
disobey their commands, or to utter a false-
hood. It should be the endeavor of all the
children who read this book, that the same
thing may be said of them. And that they
may steadfastly follow such good example, let
them ask grace of God.

A lady in Boston, intimately acquainted
with the sisters, thus speaks of them both.

43

" Margaret, at a very early age, discovered
great precocity of talent and character. At
eight and nine years old, her taste for reading
was such, and her books so well chosen, that
she was capable and ready to converse with
any well educated and intelligent person of
mature age, with accuracy and propriety.
She selected her society from among those
of literary and refined taste. She enjoyed
the pursuit of knowledge more than any thing
else.

" The amusements common to most chil-
dren, at that period of life, she often over-
looked as incapable of affording satisfaction.
She sought something more solid and useful.
Her disposition was sprightly and animated,
but she found in books her chief pleasure.
Her obedience to her parents, and her affec-
tion for her sister, were striking traits in her
character. Her person was interesting to all
who saw her, and she possessed a sweetness

44

and dignity of manner, very unusual for her
years.

" The character of Henrietta, was one of
surpassing loveliness. She attracted the at-
tention of all who saw her. From a child
she possessed uncommon beauty of person,
and every beholder was struck with the ex-
pression of her countenance, and the sweet
simplicity of her manners. If her external
beauty was faultless, her mind was equally
so. It was not so fully developed, as to its
strength, at so early a period, as that of her
sister. Her constitution and health being
delicate, she was prevented from applying
herself so much to study. Nature had made
her in the finest and purest mould, and ren-
dered her capable of becoming all that was
lovely in woman. She was all smiles and
affection to those around her. Her happiness
consisted in making others so. In the words
of a celebrated writer, ' she was one of those

45

who seemed gifted with the marvellous touch,
that opens the fountains of affection in every
nature, that elicits harmony from the coarsest,
most discordant instruments ; and the faces of
both old and young, were lighted up at her
approach, as if they had been touched by the
wing of an angel.' "

Thus happy in the admiration and love of
all who knew her, she wTas far from being
vain of this distinction. She was humble, and
ready to acknowledge herself in the sight of
God, a sinner. In a little, affectionate note,
which she wrote, not long before her last
sickness, and laid in her mother's work-basket,
she laments the possession of a " sinful heart.'5
She was attentive to religious reading, and to
her private devotions. The early instructions
and pious example of her parents, seem to have
been visibly blest to both their children.

46

It has already been mentioned that Henri-
etta endeavored to control her grief, for the
loss of her sister. But it took deep root
within. It lay down and rose up with her.
It led her wounded spirit to Him, who alone
could heal. It seemed to have been sanctified
to her, as a means of grace. In little penciled
notes, like the following, she poured forth her
emotions.

" God alone can comfort the broken heart, —
Sweet, — sweet sister !"

So tenderly anxious was she not to increase
her mother's sorrow, that after Margaret's
death, she never shed a tear in her presence.
Sometimes, it would seem as if her mourning
was too deep, to permit the relief of tears.
This affecting subject, led her to write the
ensuing note.

47

" My dearest Mother,

" You perhaps think I am heartless, and
do not feel for your loss, in God's taking our
dear Margaret. But I am wrapt up in my
own sorrow. There is much comfort, dear
mother, if we will only look to that God, who
promises so much, if we will put our trust
in him. I think the twenty-third Psalm is a
very beautiful one. i The Lord is my Shep-
herd ; I shall not want. He maketh me to
lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me
beside the still waters.' Dear mother, I feel
rather tired.

" Your Henrietta. "

A short letter to a little friend in Spring-
field, expresses her feelings still more freely.

" I have lost my only, and dearly beloved
sister. But I did not prize her enough. Caro-
line, you are happy ; you have brothers and

48

sisters. I have none. It will be but a short
time, ere I too shall be laid in the grave. I
feel as though all I had to do, was to prepare
for another and a better world."

It was the will of the Almighty, that she
should not long be divided from her loved
sister. In a few weeks she began to droop,
and never more lifted up her head in health.
After the confinement of sickness settled upon
her, she seemed still more painfully to miss
her bosom-companion. She would sit for
hours, with the deepest sorrow depicted on
her countenance. Then, as if she was hardly
conscious that her thoughts had broke forth in
words, would exclaim,

" I have no sister to play to me on the
piano, no sister to sleep by my side."

Her sickness was one of extreme suffering.
There were frequent turns of exhaustion, in
which she lay so long, that it seemed as if the

49

gentle spirit could never again be recalled to
earth. It took its departure, just as spring
began to quicken the verdure and flowers that
she loved. She died at the age of eleven
years, on April 19th, 1834, a few weeks after
her dear Margaret.

For the last three days of her life, she lay
speechless, but perfectly conscious. Her fare-
well to her parents, was a smile, long, tender,
and sweet beyond description. Its language
was love that transcended speech, with some
shadowing forth of heaven's happiness.

The grave where her sister slept, was open-
ed for her. Their coffins were laid side by
side. And those lovely sisters, for whom had
been one cradle, one fireside, " one Lord, one
faith, one baptism/' entered into one tomb,
and lay down on the same pillow of elay, to
wait for the resurrection.

The parents, bearing a loss which earth can
never repair, find comfort in the tokens they
4

50

have left behind, in the memory of their
words, their virtues, their prayers, their love
of the Bible, their trust in a Redeemer, the
willing and joyful hope with which they went
home to God. May they also be cheered
by the testimony, that good has been done to
other children by this transcript of the piety
of their own ; and may the voice of their ex-
ample, by which, " being dead, they speak,"
be cherished, and followed, by many lambs of
their Saviour's fold.

We close this account of the sisters, with
the following extract from a sermon of their
respected pastor, the Rev. Dr. Wheaton, ad-
dressed to the Sunday school, of which they
were members, from the appropriate text,

" Is it well with the child ? And she an-
swered, It is ivell"

" Margaret and Henrietta Flower, were
lovely in their lives, and in death they were

51

scarcely divided. They sleep in one grave.
No sooner had they stepped on the threshold
of this busy scene, and were permitted to
look abroad for a moment as it were into the
world, than by a mysterious Providence they
were suddenly withdrawn from it to another
state of being.

u The eldest had been a sufferer for almost
half a year ; and through all that period, as
well as for some time previous, was evidently
ripening for the kingdom of God. To the
inquiry of the clergyman who visited her
early in her illness, whether she had rather
die then, and go to the arms of her Saviour,
or recover, and grow up a thoughtless young
lady; she replied without hesitation, ' Let me
die now.? Her mind seemed entirely ab-
stracted from the world she was so soon to
leave. The glorious sun, shining into her
sick chamber, on a clear morning, reminded
her of the rising of the ' Sun of Righteousness,

52

with healing in his wings ; ? and when gay
parties were passing and repassing under her
window, on the new fallen snow, she exclaim-
ed, in the words of that beautiful hymn,

' Let worldly minds the world pursue,

It hath no charms for me : —
Once I admired its trifles too,
But grace hath set me free/

" To hear the Bible read, and especially the
Psalms, was her favorite occupation ; and the
forty-second Psalm, in which David in afflic-
tion mourns that he was not permitted to ap-
pear on the holy hill of Zion, was the one to
which she listened with the deepest interest.

" Often while in health had she been sur-
prised in her chamber on her knees, directing
her secret prayers to the God who seeth in
secret ; and often did she express her wish to
receive the rite of confirmation should her life
be spared till spring.

53

" I saw her for the first time but a few days
before her death. Her mental faculties were
entire, her strong memory remained with her ;
but her voice had failed ; her days were num-
bered and almost finished. She spoke of
death with the calmness of an ordinary event ;
and trusted that God had forgiven her un-
righteousness, and accepted her in the beloved.
With a life so blameless as hers had been, and
with a faith in Christ so calm and holy, was
there any presumption in her exclaiming, that
c God had made her happy — that he had given
her the peace which passeth all understand-
ing?' Was there any affectation in her re-
marking as she did, to a relative, 4 The worm
is my sister ??

" Thus lived and died one, whose cheerful
countenance you have often seen, and whose
voice, raised in the devout response and the
holy song, you have often heard within these

54

walls : and I now ask you, my young hearers.
Is it not well with her ?

" But the commandment had gone forth,
and her sister must follow to the grave, to
the judgment, to the recompense of reward.
The first sacrifice was not consummated be-
fore the second was called for; — why, we can-
not tell. The words of our Saviour, i What
I do, thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt
know hereafter,' apply with peculiar perti-
nence to his early removal of these two fair
blossoms of promise. In one of my visits to
the survivor during her agonizing illness, and
when hope was departing, I inquired if she
was willing to follow her sister, should the
will of God be so ? Her reply was, that ' she
was ready.' 'But what reason have you to
believe that God will grant you forgiveness,
and take you to himself?5 'Because Christ
said,, Suffer little children to come unto me,
and forbid them not ; for of such is the king-

55

dom of heaven.5 'But what have you done
to merit heaven?' 'Nothing; — Christ has
shed his blood to wash away my sins ; and I
put my trust in him.'

" Again I say, my young friends, is it not
well with her ?

" Now if you are anxious to know by what
means it was, that these children were thus
early prepared to meet their God, and how
they were reconciled to the idea of giving up
all that they loved and hoped for on earth, just
when they began to feel that it was glorious
to live and move and have their being : —
could their spirits hear you and respond to
your inquiries, they would say, that it was in
the house of God, and in the Sunday school,
that they learned those holy truths which
taught them how to die. If you desire that
it may be well with you, here and forever, use
all the means in your power to become recon-
ciled to God. Learn all you can of divine

56

truth ; study it with earnest prayer for the
Spirit's guidance and instruction ; and medi-
tate deeply on what Christ has done for your
soul. Remember that you too may be re-
moved by an early death, and as you value
your well-being through a long eternity, it is
necessary that you be always ready to give up
your account to God. ' A soul prepared, needs
no delay.' Come when he will, the messenger
will find you watching ; and in place of the
terrors and alarms which the wicked experi-
ence at the thoughts of death, you will feel
that although it may be desirable to live, it is
gain to die"

57

LINES

On the death of Miss Margaret and Henrietta Flower.

They're here, in this turf-bed, those tender forms,
So kindly cherish' d, and so fondly lov'd, —
They 're here.

Sweet sisters, pleasant in their lives,
And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet
That blooming groups should gather here, and learn
How quick the transit to the silent tomb.

I do remember them, their pleasant brows
So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance
Of their mild eyes, when in the house of God
They gather'd up the manna, that did fall,
Like dew around.

The eldest parted first,
And it was touching even to tears, to see
The perfect meekness of that childlike soul,

58

Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God,
And loosening every link of earthly hope,
To put an angel's glorious vestments on.

The younger linger'd for a little while
Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve
Of that lone spirit, clasp'd its parent-prop,
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced
The Rock of Ages, — while the Saviour's voice
Confirm'd its trust, — " Suffer the little ones
To come to me."

And then her sister's couch
Undrew its narrow covering, and those forms
Which side by side, on the same cradle-bed
So often shar'd the sleep of infancy, cheek to cheek,
Were laid on that clay pillow, —
And hand to hand, until the morning break
That hath no night.

And ye are left alone,
Who nurtur'd those fair buds, and often said
Unto each other in the hour of care,
These same shall comfort us, for all our toil ; —
Yes, ye are left alone. It is not ours
To heal such wound. Man hath too weak a hand. —
All he can give is tears.

But He who took

59

Your treasures to his keeping, He hath power
To uphold your footsteps, till they reach that clime
Where none are written childless, and the hearts
Parted a few brief moments here, unite
In an unchang'd eternity of bliss.

60

LETTER TO THE BEREAVED PARENTS.

It hath pleased God, my dear friends, that
your names should be written childless. An
affliction of no common nature has fallen upon
you. Repeatedly, and with so brief an in-
terval, to lay your treasures in the tomb, and
find that habitation desolate, which used to
resound with the tones of innocent mirth,
and the voice of young affections, is a sorrow
which few hearts can realize. We feel that
our sympathies, however sincere, fall short of
the occasion. — We would not dare to ask you
not to mourn. Nature, under such a pressure,
must relieve herself by tears. "Jesus wept"
is a sufficient sanction for the mourner's tear.

61

We would bow down with you, while you
take the cup of wo, and pray that its bitter-
ness may be made salutary. The Being who
in wisdom afflicts us, never intended that we
should be insensible to his discipline, or that
we should gird ourselves with pride to meet
it, or that we should seal up the fountain of
tears, when he maketh the heart soft. He
will not regard as sinful, the deep sighing of a
broken spirit, that amid its mourning inquires,
" Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?"

Your beloved, and lamented ones, were most
amiable and interesting. They were lovely in
the eyes of others, as well as precious to your
own. Were they less precious in the sight
of Him, who created and watched over them,
from the beginning, with a love far more un-
tiring and perfect, than that of any earthly
guide ? Did not the goodness and piety which
endeared them here, make them fitter com-
panions for those pure spirits, with whom, we

62

trust, they are mingling, around his throne ?
Their virtues, and their loveliness, seem to
have rendered your loss greater. But would
you have had them less virtuous, less lovely ?
You do not grudge that the gift should have
possessed some fitness for Him who reclaimed
it. — Oh no. You will give thanks that the
fair promise of their excellence was unclouded
when they went down into the dust. Espe-
cially, you will rejoice, that the proofs of their
piety were so clear, that a kind and affec-
tionate spirit was early breathed into their
hearts, and that they were, through faith in a
Redeemer, made ready for a higher habitation,
and willing to ascend there. How often will
the echo of their sweet accents revisit your
memory, repeating as they were wront, " Suf-
fer little children to come unto me, and
forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom
of heaven. "

Often, also, will it dwell on your thankful

63

recollection, that they can feel sorrow no
more. This to the heart of a parent, is an
assurance of unspeakable value. You will no
more see them racked with pain, or pale with
weakness, or emaciated with lingering disease.
You are no longer to watch their sleepless
couch, or hear their dovelike moaning, and
shudder with untold agony, that you have no
power to arrest the pang, or to stay the foot-
step of the destroyer. Henceforth, by them,
sickness and death are felt and feared no
more.

From the many hazards of this evil life,
from those temptations which sometimes foil
the strongest, and the sins which mav over-
shadow those whose opening course was most
fair, they have escaped. To be forever sin-
less, and at rest, is a glorious heritage. We,
who bear the burdens of a weary pilgrimage,
cherish as our strongest consolation, the hope

64

of at length reaching what they have already
attained.

Their interval of separation was short.
Scarcely had the parting-tear dried on the
turf-covering of one, ere the other was sum-
moned to the same pillow, " ashes to ashes,
and dust to dust." The drooping survivor,
was but a little while compelled to mourn,
like a smitten and lovely blossom. You re-
member how they loved each other's society.
If they had been separated longer than usual,
how they would fly to each other's arms. If
one had been absent from home, with what
rapture her return was anticipated. But can
you portray, or even imagine, their meeting in
heaven? Here they met, but to part again.
There, they are to be forever with the Lord.
They have joined an " innumerable company
of angels, and God, the judge of all, and the
spirits of the just made perfect."

The felicity of glorified saints we may not

65

comprehend. " Eye hath not seen, nor ear
heard, nor the heart of man conceived'5 it.
But we may prepare ourselves for it. We
may daily cultivate those graces which will
fit us to reciprocate the welcome of angels,
when it shall please God to say to us, "Come
up hither."

Afflictions have eminently the power of
advancing spiritual welfare. Yours have been
heavy and peculiar. May their heavenly fruits
be equally visible and prominent. May time
bring you that entire resignation and peace, so
beautifully described by a poet. —

" When the wounds of wo are healing,
When the heart is all resign'd,
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling,
'Tis the Sabbath of the mind."

In seeking comfort under this dispensation,
reflect that your children are not only together,
but they are at home. When they have at any
5

66

time left you, to go among strangers, how
many anxieties have possessed your bosom.
You have feared that they might be sick, ere
you could be informed, — that they might seek
comfort and not find it, or be in error and
heaviness, and need that advice and sympathy
which none but a parent can bestow. Now,
they are where nothing dangerous or unfriendly
can intrude. They feel no longer the helpless-
ness and timidity of strangers. They are at
home, in the house of their Father. Your
family is commenced in heaven. There is
a gathering together of your dearest ones,
around the altar of immortality.

The time is short, ere you hope to enfold
them in an eternal embrace. You will not
yield to despondence, though loneliness marks
your dwelling, when you realize that its be-
loved inmates are only gone a little in ad-
vance, to that mansion which the Saviour
hath prepared for all who love him. There-

67

fore, my dear mourning friends, comfort each
other by the way. Fellow-Christians, and
heirs of the same inheritance, vou can remind
each other of " exceeding great and precious
promises ;" and while you bless God for the
tender sympathies with which you regard each
other, will find that sorrow thus divided, loses
much of its anguish. You will also bless him
for the happiness of your children. While
they were here below, to see them happy
w7as your chief joy. But you were not sure
of the continuance of that happiness for a
single hour. Now you can give thanks for
the fullness of their felicity, and for its fear-
less continuance. Their abode is where no
rust corrupteth, where no robber may break
through and steal.

Speaking after the manner of men, we are
constrained to acknowledge that earth has no
substitute for your loss. But you do not ask
it of earth, you look to heaven. Still, in the

68

meek bearing of a Father's will, and in the
efforts of benevolence, there is a balm for the
bereaved spirit.

Remember that you have given a gift to
God. Though it was with tears, he will
accept it. If you can do it without repining,
you prove your love to him. To reveal its
complacence by gifts, seems to be one of
the native dialects of love. The little child
presents its favorite teacher, with a fresh
flower : — It hastens to its mother with the
first, best rose in its little garden. In the
kiss to its father, with which it resigns itself
to sleep, it gives away its whole heart. Nor
does love falter, though its gifts involve sacri-
fices. The wife willingly trusts to her chosen
protector, her " all of earth, perhaps, her all
of heaven" The mother grudges not the
pang, the faded bloom, and the many night-
watchings, with which she rears up her infant.
Why should parents yield with such bitter

69

reluctance their children to that all-wise and
beneficent Being, whom " not having seen,
they love."

Love rejoices to see its object in the most
eligible situations. We are delighted when
our children are in the successful pursuit of
knowledge, in the bright path of virtue, in
possession of the esteem of the wTise and
good. In sending them from home, we seek
to secure for them the advantages of refined
society, the superintendence of affectionate
and pious friends. Were a man, illustrious in
power and excellence, to take a parent's in-
terest in their concerns, or were they admitted
to the mansion of princes, should we not be
sensible of the honor ? Why then, with an
unreconciled spirit, do we see them go to be
angels among angels, and to dwell gloriously
in the presence of the " high and Holy One,
who inhabiteth eternity?"

You have added to the number of those

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who serve God without sin. You may not
now see the dazzling of their celestial wings,
as they unfold them, without weariness, to
do His will. You may not now, listen to the
melody of their harps, attuned to unending
praise. But perhaps, from their heavenly
abode, they watch over you. Perhaps, with
a seraph smile, they still hover around you.
They will rejoice to see you walking with
a placid brow, and resigned spirit, to meet
them, doing good, according to your power, to
all around ; and ever solacing yourselves with
the thought, that your loss is their eternal
gain. And now that the God of all consola-
tion, without whose aid all our best endeavors
are nothing worth, may sustain and bless you,
is the prayer of

Yours with friendship and sympathy,

L. H. S.

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LINES

Addressed to the Parents of Margaret and Henrietta Flower.

Tender guides, in sorrow weeping,
O'er your children's buried bloom,

Or fond memory's vigil keeping,

Where the fresh turf marks their tomb,-

Ye no more shall see them bearing
Pangs that woke the dove-like moan,

Still for your affliction caring,
Though forgetful of their own, —

Ere the bitter cup they tasted

Which the hand of care doth bring,

Ere the glittering pearls were wasted
From glad childhood's fairy string,

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Ere one chain of hope had rusted,
Ere one wreath of joy was dead,

To the Saviour, whom they trusted,
Full of love, their spirits fled. —

Gone, where no dark sin is cherish'd,
Where no woes, nor fears invade, —

Gone, ere youth's first bud had perish'd,
To a youth that ne'er can fade.