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ELIZABETH BOGART. 203

She knew that life held nothing now
That could the past repay,
Yet she disdained his tardy vow.
And coldly turned away.

He came too late! -- Her countless dreams
Of hope had long since flown;
No charms dwelt in his chosen themes,
Nor in his whispered tone.
And when, with word and smile, he tried
Affection still to prove, 
She nerved her heart with woman's pride,
And spurned his fickle love.

TO THE MEMORY OF A FRIEND WHO DIED ON SABBATH MORNING.

OH, it was meet, beloved friend!
That on the Sabbath morn, 
Thy soul should wing its flight to heaven,
On angel pinions borne.
And brightly broke that Sabbath day
Upon thy raptured sight,
In mansions of eternal bliss,
And everlasting light.

And in that City of the Blest,
Where thou hast found a home,
Sorrow and sickness are unknown,
And Death shall never come.
"And there shall be no night," nor need
Of sun or moon to shine;
The glory of the Lord shall fill
The place with rays divine.

Why should we weep, beloved friend!
That thou hast entered now.