So loud that all might hear;
But ah! my harp is tuned so low,
Its feeble strains I full well know
Can reach no distant ear.

Yet I rejoice that harps on high,
And voices of sweet harmony,
Are raised to bless the name
Of Him who sits upon the throne,
Rejoicing over souls new born,
Who soon will join with them,
Eternally His name to adore
Who died, yet lives forevermore.

Weston, May 8, 1852.

[1] By this I do not mean to include all foreigners, for some of
them I consider among the very best of our population, but
dancers, &c., &c.




TO MY FRIEND MR. J. ELLIS.


To thee, the guardian of my youthful days,
Fain would I pay some tribute of respect;
And though it falls far short of thy desert,
The _will_ to do thee justice thou'lt accept.