MARTHA AGNES BONNER,

There was a cradling lent us here,

To cheer our lot,

It was a cherub in disguise,

But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes

Perceiv'd it not.

Its voice was like the symphony

That lute-strings lend,

Yet tho’ our hearts the music hail'd

As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd

To comprehend.

It linger'd till each season fill'd

Their perfect round,

The vernal bud, the summer-rose,

Autumnal gold, and wintry snows

Whitening the ground.

But when again reviving Spring

Thro’ flowers would roam,

And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd

Neath the soft wing of chirping bird,

A call from angel-harps was heard,

“Cherub,— come home.”