MRS. EMILY ELLSWORTH,

Not with the common forms of funeral grief

We mourn for her who in the tomb this day

Taketh her narrow couch. For we have need

Of such example as she set us here,

The sphere of christian duty beautified

By gifts of intellect, and taste refined;

A precious picture, set in frame of gold

And hung on high.

Hers was a life that bore

The test of scrutiny, and they who saw

Its inner ministration, day by day,

Bore fullest witness to its symmetry,

Its delicate tissues, and unwavering crown

Of piety. A heritage of fame,

And the rich culture of her early years

Wrought no contempt for woman's household care,

But gave it dignity. Order was hers,

And system, and an industry that weighed

The priceless value of each fleeting hour.

Hers was a charm of manner felt by all,

A reference for authorities that marked

The olden time, and that true courtesy

Which made the aged happy.

Scarce it seemed

That she was of their number, or the links

Of threescore years and ten, indeed had wound

Their coil around her, with such warmth the heart,

And cloudless mind retained their energies.

Beauty and grace were with her to the last,

And fascination that withheld the guest

Beyond the allotted time.

More would we say,

But her affections‘ tis not ours to touch

In lays so weak. He of their worth might tell,

Whose dearest hopes so long with hers entwined,

And they who shared the intense maternal love,

That knew no pause of effort, no decay,

No weariness, but glazed the dying eye

With heaven-born lustre.

So, we bid farewell;

Friend and Exemplar, we who tread so close

In thine unechoing footsteps.

Be thy faith

As strong for us, when we the bridge shall pass

To the grand portal of Eternity.