Fawcett, twelve years have swiftly fled...

Fawcett, twelve years have swiftly fled Since first we one another knew. Then mutual sufferings quickly led To friendship which but stronger grew.

The Angel Death hath ta'en thy wife From thy loved arms to dwell above; I the sweet partner of my life Had lost, and sadly missed her love.

Joy seized our sympathetic souls As each to each his trials told; We found that Bible Truth consoles For loss of wives—worth more than gold.

Left with young families each was soon Compelled again to seek a mate; In love Heaven gave once more the boon Of partners suiting well our state.

Laboring as Gospel Minister, Thou Brantford left for other place, Yet did thou not, I can aver, Neglect to tell of God's rich grace.

Nobly thy work thou did'st pursue, With a fair share of good success; Daily grew clearer in thy view The Scripture plan of Happiness.

At last amongst the poor Red Men, Who needed much thy pastoral care, Thy lot was cast, and O how fain They were such ministry to share.

Of this we had the fullest proofs When thy sad end to them was known; Wailings were heard beneath their roofs, And other signs of grief were shown.

They'll miss thee much, as Sabbath day Brings fresh thy memory to their mind, And gratefully a tribute pay To thee—in thine thus left behind.

Oh! how can I now further sing? How tell the horrors of that blow Which caused thy death, when each rude string Of my poor lyre doth tremble so?

Ah, me! that one on mercy bent, Hasting to his sick brother's side, Should be from life thus strangely rent, And have his faith so greatly tried!

Peace! God All-wise gave this dread shock And took his soul with Him to dwell. He to the last stood on that Rock Which can withstand the rage of Hell.