Oh, Sister! sing the song I love,
And tears of gratitude receive.

The song which thrills my bosom's core,
And, hovering, trembles half afraid,
Oh, Sister! sing the song once more,
Which ne'er for mortal ear was made.

'Twere almost sacrilege to sing
Those notes amid the glare of day;
Notes borne by angels' purest wing,
And wafted by their breath away.

When, sleeping in my grass-grown bed,
Shouldst thou still linger here above,
Wilt thou not kneel beside my head,
And, Sister! sing the song I love?


To young readers it might be useful to observe, that these verses in one
place approach the verge of meaning, but are on the wrong side of the
line: to none can it be necessary to say, that they breathe the deep
feeling of a mind essentially poetical.

"Her desire of knowledge increased as she grew more capable of
appreciating its worth;" and she appreciated much beyond its real worth
the advantages which girls derive from the ordinary course of female
education. "Oh!" she said one day to her mother, "that I only possessed
half the means of improvement which I see others slighting! I should
be the happiest of the happy." A youth whom nature has endowed with