CALEB HAZEN TALCOTT,

There came a merry 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," 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.