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142
poems.
Oft have I turned me, 'mid earth's deep unrest,
To those sweet hours, my brightest and most blest.
Thou, in the days when fortune smiled on thee,
Wast a warm friend, untiring, true to me;
Nor ever hath thy watchful interest ceased,
Till death thy noble, godlike soul released.
My heart's deep debt of gratitude shall be
A lasting pillar to thy memory.

Friend of my youth! though feeble is the meed
I pay the princely heart, the generous deed,
Though strains more proud and eloquent than mine
The memory of thy virtues shall enshrine,
Yet none the voice of truer grief shall raise,
Or to thy goodness yield more heartfelt praise.

Not I alone deplore thy hapless fate,
Thou good and gifted, generous and great!
She, that sad mourner o'er thy silent bier,
Shedding in speechless grief the frequent tear;
And they, whose names dwelt latest on thy tongue,
O'er whom a father's shield of love was flung,
Their depth of wo His might alone can scan,
Whose eye beams love, whose voice "speaks peace" to man.

Eternal One! God of the fatherless!
Whose grace the widow's anguished heart can bless!
Bend from Thy throne of radiant light above,
And be Thy banner o'er those sad ones, love.
Rest her lone heart beneath Thy sheltering wing,
And to thy fold those lambs in safety bring.