From chequered scenes of warfare--to inherit
That perfect love that God's own favoured know.

Then could we wish thee back to dwell with mortals
And bear those storms that toss Time's troubled sea?
No! from that home beyond the pearly portals
Thou canst not come, but we will go to thee!







IN MEMORIAM

OF

R. A. WILSON, ESQ.,

EDITOR OF THE BELFAST MORNING NEWS.


Fair vales of Ulster! in the noontide smiling,
Blue Northern mountains, frowning to the sky;
Rivers that flow along, with song beguiling
The summer day _your_ beauties, too, must die!

Know ye no _requiem_? Ah! streamlets borrow
Your tones from tearful voices! Mountains blue,