Fawcett, twelve years have swiftly fled...

Fawcett, twelve years have swiftly fled

Since first we one another knew.

Then mutual sufferings quickly led

To friendship which but stronger grew.

The Angel Death hath ta'en thy wife

From thy loved arms to dwell above;

I the sweet partner of my life

Had lost, and sadly missed her love.

Joy seized our sympathetic souls

As each to each his trials told;

We found that Bible Truth consoles

For loss of wives — worth more than gold.

Left with young families each was soon

Compelled again to seek a mate;

In love Heaven gave once more the boon

Of partners suiting well our state.

Laboring as Gospel Minister,

Thou Brantford left for other place,

Yet did thou not, I can aver,

Neglect to tell of God's rich grace.

Nobly thy work thou did'st pursue,

With a fair share of good success;

Daily grew clearer in thy view

The Scripture plan of Happiness.

At last amongst the poor Red Men,

Who needed much thy pastoral care,

Thy lot was cast, and O how fain

They were such ministry to share.

Of this we had the fullest proofs

When thy sad end to them was known;

Wailings were heard beneath their roofs,

And other signs of grief were shown.

They'll miss thee much, as Sabbath day

Brings fresh thy memory to their mind,

And gratefully a tribute pay

To thee — in thine thus left behind.

Oh! how can I now further sing?

How tell the horrors of that blow

Which caused thy death, when each rude string

Of my poor lyre doth tremble so?

Ah, me! that one on mercy bent,

Hasting to his sick brother's side,

Should be from life thus strangely rent,

And have his faith so greatly tried!

Peace! God All-wise gave this dread shock

And took his soul with Him to dwell.

He to the last stood on that Rock

Which can withstand the rage of Hell.