MR. JOHN A. TAINTOR,

A sense of loss is on us. One hath gone

Whose all-pervading energy doth leave

A void and silence‘ mid the haunts of men

And desolation for the hearts that grieve

In his fair mansion, so bereft and lone,

Whence the inspiring smile, and cheering voice have flown.

Those too there are who eloquently speak

Of his firm friendship, not without a tear,

Of its strong power to undergird the weak

And hold the faltering feet in duty's sphere,

While in the cells of want, a broken trust

In bitterness laments, that he is of the dust.

In foreign climes, with patriotic eye

He sought what might his Country's welfare aid,

And the rich flocks of Spain, at his behest

Spread their proud fleeces o'er our verdant glade,

And Scotia's herds, as on their native shore

Our never-failing streams, and pastures rich explore.

Intent was he to adorn his own domain

With all the radiant charms that Flora brings,

There still, the green-house flowers pronounce his name,

The favor'd rose its grateful fragrance flings,

And in their faithful ranks to guard the scene

Like changeless memories rise, the unfading evergreen.

On friendly deeds intent, while on his way

A widow'd heart to cheer,— One grasp'd his hand

Whose icy touch the beating heart can stay,

And in a moment, at that stern command

Unwarn'd, yet not unready, he doth show

The great transition made, that waits on all below.

Yet, ah! the contrast,— when the form that pass'd

Forth from its gates, in full vitality,

Is homeward, as a lifeless burden borne,

No more to breathe kind word, or fond reply,

Each nameless care assume with earnest skill,

Nor the unspoken wish of those he loved fulfill.

But hallow'd lips within the sacred dome

Where he so long his sabbath-worship paid

Have given his soul to God from whence it came

And laid his head beneath the cypress shade,

While “be ye also ready,” from his tomb,

In a Redeemer's voice, doth neutralize the gloom.