CHRISTIAN MOTHER'S LAMENT. THE FOLLOWING LITTLE POEM WAS SUGGESTED BY A PASSAGE IN THE MEMOIRS OF THE LATE MRS. SUSAN HUNTINGTON OF BOSTON, NEW ENGLAND. Ah! cold at my feet thou art sleeping, my boy, And I press on thy pale lips, in vain, the fond kiss; Earth opens her arms to receive thee, my joy! And all I have suffered was nothing to this: The day-star of hope 'neath thine eyelids is sleeping, No more to arise at the voice of my weeping. Oh, how art thou changed!--since the light breath of morning Dispelled the soft dew-drops in showers from the tree, Like a beautiful bud, my lone dwelling adorning, Thy smiles called up feelings of rapture in me; I thought not the sunbeams all brightly that shone On thy waking, at eve would behold me alone. The joy that flashed out from those death-shrouded eyes, That laughed in thy dimples and brightened thy cheek, Is quenched--but the smile on thy pale lip that lies, Now tells of a joy that no language can speak. The fountain is sealed, the young spirit at rest, Ah, why should I mourn thee--my loved one--my blest?

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