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336           MARTHA DAY.

She rests in peace; for her forbear thy weeping;
Thou soon shalt meet her in the world on high!
The care-worn form in yonder grave is sleeping,
But the free spirit lives beyond the sky.

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MARTHA DAY.

This sweet and gifted girl was born in New Haven, on the 13th of February, 1813.  Her father, Jeremiah Day, D.D.,L.L.D., President of Yale College, who early saw in her the evidences of very superior talent, spared no pains in giving her an excellent education.  He placed her first under the care of the Rev. Claudius Herrick, who kept a school for young ladies in New Haven; then at a boarding-school in Greenfield, Massachusetts, as an assistant-teacher as well as pupil, under the charge of the Rev. Henry Jones; and afterwards for one year at the Young Ladies' Institute, in her native town.  After leaving school, she diligently continued her studies; became a proficient in Mathematics and Mental Philosophy, understood the Latin, Greek, French, and German languages, and was well-grounded in solid English literature. Her high attainments and rich native talents gave promise of her being a useful member of society, and a bright ornament to her sex; but in 1833, at the early age of twenty, she was suddenly snatched away by that strong hand whose power none can resist.  A small volume of her Literary Remains was published in New Haven, the year after her death.  It contained, besides other writings, all her poems which had been preserved; but she wrote hastily, and was never satisfied with her poetical efforts, consequently not careful to keep them.

The following beautiful and eloquent hymn displays a sublimity of thought and strength of expression most remarkable in so young a person.  No one can read it without feeling a sincere respect for the author, and a deep regret at the early removal of talent so worthily directed.



MARTHA DAY.   337

HYMN.

FATHER Almighty!
From thy high seat thou watchest and controllest
The insects that upon thy footstool creep,
While, with a never-wearied hand, thou rollest
Millions of worlds along the boundless deep.
Oh, Father! now the clouds hang blackening o'er us,
And the dark boiling deeps beneath us yawn;
Scatter the tempests, quell the waves before us,
To the wild fearful night send thou a blessed dawn.

Father All Holy!
When thou shalt sit upon thy throne of glory,
The steadfast earth, the strong untiring sea,
Their verdant isles, their mountains high and hoary,
With awe and fear, shall from thy presence flee.
Then shalt thou sit a Judge, the guilty dooming
To adamantine chains and endless fire;
Oh Father! how may we abide thy coming,
Where find a shelter from the pure Jehovah's ire?

Father All Merciful!
Still may the guilty come in peace before thee,
Bathing thy feet with tears of love and woe;
And while for pardon only we implore thee,
Blessings divine, unnumber'd, o'er us flow.
Father, her heart from all her idols tearing,
Thine erring child again would turn to thee;
To thee she bends, trembling, yet not despairing,—
From fear, remorse, and sin, oh, Father! set her free!

29   W

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