November, 1847.

Oh for one word of that Almighty voice, Whose tone, though gentle, pierced the ear of death-- Talitha, cumi! Oh that He might stand Above this faded flower, and breathe back life! Was there no way, my sister dear, but this, That in the fulness of thy life of love, Expanding duties, daily strengthening ties, And with this new--born treasure lately found, Thou must drop off and die? Mysterious God, In whose high hearing nothing Thou hast made But sounds in heavenly harmony entire,-- Teach us the master--note, that may reduce To concord this heart--breaking dissonance; Shine on us with that Sun, whose mighty rays Have shone upon our sister, so that all Left on this earth, though dear a thousand--fold To her, whose heart is filled with purest love, Moves not one sigh,--so blessed is she now.