MISS DELIA WOODRUFF GODDING,

Thine earnest life is over, sainted Friend!

And hush'd the teaching voice that gladly pour'd

Knowledge and goodness o'er the plastic mind.

— Full many a pupil of thy varied lore

Amid thine own New-England's elm-crowned vales

Holds thee in tenderness of grateful thought,

And far away in the broad-featured west

Where the strong Sire of waters robes in green

The shores of Minnesota, comes a wail

From youthful bands expecting thy return,

To guide them, as the shepherd leads the lamb.

They watch in vain.

The pleasant halls are dark

Once lighted by thy smile, and flowing tears

Reveal the love that linger'd there for thee.

Said we thy life was o'er?

Forgive the words.

We take them back.

Thou hast begun to live.

Here was the budding, there the perfect flower,

Here the faint star, and there the unsetting sun,

Here the scant preface, there the open Book

Where angels read forever.

Here on the threshold, the dim vestibule

Thou with a faithful hand didst toil to tune

That harp of praise within the unfolding heart

Which‘ neath the temple-arch not made with hands

Swells the full anthem of Eternity.