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204 ELIZABETH BOGART.

The gates of pearl, and hast received
The crown upon thy brow-
The glorious "crown of righteousness"-
Ere yet the years drew near, 
In which thy weary heart should feel
Thou hadst no pleasure here.

Thy spirit left this dying world,
While Nature's fading bloom
And falling leaves, spoke mournfully
Of sadness and the tomb.
But ah, already has the Spring,
With flowers and beauty rife,
Returned to thee-and thou hast drunk
The crystal stream of life.

Yet must I weep, my much loved-friend!
In selfish grief, for thee;
The haunts where we together strayed,
Are lonely now to me.
Earth's bright and beauteous scenes no more
Could former joys impart,
Without thy pleasant voice and smile,
Companion of my heart!

Nor I alone shall mourn thy loss;
The suffering, sick, and poor,
Will miss the friend who never turned
Unkindly from their door.
Oh, thou hast sought the bed of pain,
To comfort the distressed;
And many such will join thy friends,
To call thy memory blessed.

Thy works shall praise thee, more than words,
For feeble is the lyre,


ELIZABETH BOGART.   205

And cold the language seems to flow, 
Though burning thoughts inspire.
Farewell, farewell!-I know that thou
Shalt ne'er return to me;
My earthly pilgrimage fulfill'd,
Oh, may I go to thee!

THE COUNTRY CHURCH.

IT was an humble temple; and it stood
In the enclosure of a quiet wood.
The forest trees o'ershadow'd all the place,
And mountains round it, add a rude grace,
To charm the eye, and bid the thoughts arise
Amid their towering summits, to the skies.
The valley lay below, half hid from view
By clustering bushes on its bank that grew;
And in its depths a winding streamlet stray'd
Of crystal water, murmuring through the glade-
An emblem of that living water, given
To quench the thirst of spirits bound for heaven.

Sweet was the rural scene of deep repose,
And bright the sun that o'er the Sabbath rose,
When we, as strangers, sought that house of prayer, 
And join'd the few who met to worship there.
We cross'd the open door-way, sure to meet 
A welcome entrance and a willing seat,
Amid the scant and scatter'd flock that came
Their own familiar places there to claim.
Free access to that dome was none denied;
Nor outward show of fashion or of pride,
Check'd the devotion of the solemn hour,
Or took from Truth its deep, momentous power.

No studied eloquence was there display'd,
Nor poetry of language lent its aid,
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Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-28 12:44:43