TRIBUTARY VERSES. 43 1 



A spii'it good and pure as thine, 

 Best in immortal scenes can shine. 

 Though friends are left to weep. 



\Vhen in this dreary dark abode, 

 Bewildered in life's mazy road, 



The weary trav'ller sighs ; 

 A rising star sometimes appears. 

 Illumes the path, his bosom cheers. 



And lights him to the skies. 



Oh, had thy valued life been spared, 

 Hadst thou the vineyard's labour shared. 



What glowing fruits of love 

 Thou mightst have added to the stores 

 Purchased by Him thy soul adores 



Kow in the realms above. 



Ah ! loss severe ! reflect, ye great. 

 Ye rich, ye powerful, on the fate 



Of merit's early doom ; 

 Those dazzling gems ye so much prize, 

 Perhaps in dread array may rise 



In judgment from the tomb. 



A single gem of useless show, 

 Might everlasting lustre throw 



Upon the eternal mind; 

 Did gentle ofiGces employ 

 Those hours which fashion's ways destroy. 



Those hours for good design 'd. 



Peruse the letters of a youth, 



"NYhose pen was dipt in heavenly truth, 



His virtuous struggles trace ; 

 Then will thy melting bosom bleed, 

 And quicken there the precious seed 



Of self-renewing grace. 



Then will be clearly understood, 

 " The luxury of doing good :" 



And ! how happy they 

 Whose means are great, and hearts are lave^ 

 Who best the sacred trust discharge 



To Him who will repay. 



