MARTHA AGNES BONNER,

There was a cradling lent us here, To cheer our lot, It was a cherub in disguise, But yet our dim and earth-bow'd eyes Perceiv'd it not.

Its voice was like the symphony That lute-strings lend, Yet tho' our hearts the music hail'd As a sweet breath of heaven, they fail'd To comprehend.

It linger'd till each season fill'd Their perfect round, The vernal bud, the summer-rose, Autumnal gold, and wintry snows Whitening the ground.

But when again reviving Spring Thro' flowers would roam, And the white cherry blossoms stirr'd Neath the soft wing of chirping bird, A call from angel-harps was heard, "Cherub,—come home."