elements shall melt with fervent heat" I may not be among those who
shall take up the sad lamentation: "The harvest is past, the summer is
ended, and we are not saved."--_Oct._, 1852.




THE WATCHER.


[As Miss Johnson lived in the house with Dr. G. O. Somers, who would
frequently in winter cross lake Memphremagog on the ice in visiting
his patients, the following, written on a sick-bed, gives a graphic
description of what her fears pictured might be a reality.]

Night comes, but he comes not! I fear
The treacherous ice; what do I hear?
Bells? nay, I am deceived again,--
'Tis but the ringing in my brain.
Oh how the wind goes shrieking past!
Was it a voice upon the blast?
A cry for aid? My God protect!
Preserve his life--his course direct!
How suddenly it has grown dark--
How very dark without--hush! hark!
'Tis but the creaking of the door;
It opens wide, and nothing more.
Then wind and snow came in; I thought
Some straggler food and shelter sought;
But more I feared, for fear is weak,