MISS ELIZABETH BRINLEY,

We miss her at the chancel-side,

For when we last drew near,

The holy Eucharist to share,

She, with the warmth of praise and prayer

Was meekly kneeling here.

We miss her when the liberal hand

Relieves a thirsting soil,

And when the Blessed Church demands

Assistance for the mission bands

That on her frontier toil.

We miss her‘ mid the gather'd train

Of childrenyoung and poor,

Whom year by year she deign'd to teach

With faithful zeal and patient speech,

And hope that anchor'd sure.

Her couch is in the ancestral tomb

With Putnam's honor'd dust,

The true in word, the bold in deed,

A bulwark in his Country's need,

A tower of strength and trust.

Her spirit's home is with her Lord,

Whom from her youth she sought,

The miss'd below hath found above

The promise of a God of Love

Made to the pure in thought.