Footnotes

MARTHA DAY, daughter of President Day, of Yale College: and JANE L. FLOYD, daughter of the late Rev. Laomi Floyd, and adopted daughter of the Rev. Dr. Palmer, of Charleston; who died in New Haven, where she was pursuing her studies.

The REV. CLAUDIUS HERRICK, long known and celebrated as the instructor of young ladies in New Haven.

A VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

“And one of the elders said unto me, ‘Weep not.’”

ST. JOHN.

O, weep not in thy lonely hours, My Mary! weep not so; If thou couldst hear my spirit-voice, Thy tears would cease to flow.

I’d tell thee of thy future home, Its pure unfading bliss, Where hearts that once have swell’d with grief Now swell with happiness.

I’d tell thee how our angel son Reclines in Jesus’ arms, Or roams with me these heavenly hills, Enraptured with their charms.

I’d tell thee how with seraph’s voice We make these arches ring, And sound melodious notes of praise To Heaven’s eternal King.

I’d tell thee how with golden wings We fly at his command, Who bought for us this heritage-- This fair delightful land.

I’d tell thee how in God’s own book I’ve read thy title clear, I know, my own! my still beloved! That I shall see thee here.

I’d tell thee of the glorious rest Remaining yet for thee, When with thy loved and sainted ones In Heaven thou shalt be.

I’d tell thee of the honor’d place The Savior will prepare, When thou shalt have thy shining crown, And robes of glory wear.

I’d tell thee how these ransom’d ones No more shall say farewell, Forever in these realms of joy Unparted may we dwell.

I’d tell thee how we long for thee, And soon expect thee here, Where all thy sorrows shall be past, Forgotten every tear.

O, weep not in thy lonely hours, My Mary! weep not so; If thou couldst hear my spirit-voice, Thy tears would cease to flow.

CHARLESTON, June 20, 1840.

THE SOLITARY WALK.

One sunny day I walk’d abroad, All balmy was the air; The noble Mississippi roll’d Majestically there.

But nature’s smiling beauty brought No pleasure to my breast, For gloomy grief sat brooding there, An uninvited guest.

In vain I strove to drive away The deep unwelcome gloom, My fav’rite flowers I heeded not, In all their summer bloom.

It was the first, the only time, Since I was left alone, That I had dared to wander forth, A solitary one!

And sadly as I moved along With tott’ring steps and slow, I bent beneath the pond’rous weight Of overwhelming woe.

The mem’ry of that dreadful hour Remaineth with me still; And often to my bleeding heart It sends an icy chill.

I seem’d to tread the earth alone, The last of human kind; I had no power to send afar My stricken, palsied mind.

For there were those who loved me well, Who watch’d my early years; And many dear ones shed for me Most agonizing tears.

In Carolina’s sunny land, They wept and pray’d for me; But where I was, I had not one To share my misery!

And was it strange that I should feel The heaviest weight of gloom, When those who shared my last sweet walk, Were silent in the tomb?

I lean’d upon my husband’s arm, And on him gazed with pride, And Charley too, my darling boy, Danced gaily by my side.

There was an old and leafless tree Laid prostrate by the blast, And often, in our pleasant walks, That lonely tree we pass’d.

And when fatigued with rambling long, It was our resting place; For sitting there, we loved to gaze On nature’s glorious face.

It lay upon a verdant hill, Begirt with beauty round; How often, in that varied scene, A Paradise we found!

The far famed river spread below, All gemm’d with islands green, And many a cloud reflected lay Upon its breast serene.

For there the Mississippi seem’d A boundless peaceful sea, A mirror for the fleecy clouds, And many a forest tree.

And often, on its bosom fair Was seen the light canoe, Swift darting to some well known place Where richest berries grew.

While gentle maids, all blithe of heart, On harmless frolic bent, (Who’d left behind each grave Mamma On household cares intent,)

And gallant youths, in merry mood, Who row’d each swift canoe, Gave life and gladness to the scene, Which seemed forever new.

And here and there, among the trees, A painted Indian stalked, With gaudy feathers on his head, All dancing as he walked.

For many a stately forest chief Would often wander there, Among those unfrequented isles To hunt the antler’d deer.

And where the curling smoke afar Slow mounted to the skies, We knew a freighted steamer came, And soon would greet our eyes.

Perhaps ’twould bring us news from home, Tidings of joy or woe; Then would the life blood in our veins With swifter current flow.

And Charley, springing to my side, Would watch my anxious face; Or throw his arms around my neck, With childhood’s native grace;--

Or, bringing flowers, the fragrant flowers, The beautiful and rare, Would climb upon the prostrate tree, And twine them in my hair.

For he, with youthful buoyancy, Would never want to rest, But, hunting for the sweetest flowers, In richest colors dress’d,

Would bring them to his mother dear, To wreathe around her head: O, God! it breaks my heart to think That noble boy is dead!

He was the life of every scene, The sunshine of my breast; He smiled away each gloomy thought That e’er my heart oppress’d.

But now in loneliness I stood Beside that very tree, And mem’ry seemed, in every spot, My darling boy to see.

But when I gaz’d with earnest eye, I found the vision fled; Twas but a momentary thought, My child--my child was dead!

And oh! I had another woe I knew not how to bear; I felt, my husband’s words of love I never more should hear.

I asked my heart, “O, can it be I am so desolate?” My broken heart, with throbbing pain, Confess’d the mournful fate.

In utter solitude of soul, I sat me down and wept, But guardian angels all around Their watchful station kept.

I heard a voice which said to me, “Write, Blessed are the dead! O, weep not that thy dearest ones Away from earth are fled.

Thy Father called them to his arms, Ere long he’ll call for thee; Then wipe away those bitter tears, And bow to his decree.”

I listen’d to the soothing voice, And peace return’d again; I ask’d for sweet submission, too, And did not ask in vain.