 Master urges me to lay before
the Christian world this life, as a help and solace to the many
struggling ones. Reverently bowing to this call, and imploring His
blessings upon the humble effort, I assume the pen. May the Lord own
the work! And here I desire also to express my profound thanks to
those distinguished Christians, who have contributed most essentially
to this volume, and to the many more, whose letters of sympathy and
love have furnished inspiration to the performance of this sad, yet
pleasing duty.

T. G. S.




In Memoriam.

BY WILLIAM STEWARD ("WILL.")

"They are love's last gifts, bring ye flowers, pale flowers."--MRS.
HEMANS.


    I stand alone beside the silent mound,
      The dull, cold earth beneath me, and the sky
    Dark blue o'er head.--The spacious hills around
      Nor charms the gaze of my grief wearied eye;
    Sad, tired, forlorn, I sink upon the sod,
      With rev'rent awe and mournful bareed head,
    I try to raise my thoughts to mother's God,
      And with affection contemplate the dead.

    I am a boy again--a lisping child,
      With sunny face and merry prattling tongue;
    I totter forth with joyous fancy wild,
      And sing the lullaby we last night sung;
    My young heart bounds with radiant happiness
      As some new toy my angel-mother gives,
    Or stoops to pat my head with sweet caress,
      And my glad lips her cherished kiss receives.

    Now I am grown to boyhoods first estate;
      And thorns of life 'gin prick me one by one,--
    Now aspiration's hopes, my thoughts elate,
      And now by disappointments am cast down;
    The daily avocations of the farm
      Bring each in turn their elements of woe,
    But mother's heart, its beatings always warm,
      Is a sure haven where I ever go.

    Th' unruly horse my youthful strength o'erpowers,
      Or vicious cattle wear my patience bare,
    Each is recounted of in evening hours,
      In boyhood's confidence in mother
Master urges me to lay before 
 the Christian world this life, as a aid and consolation to the many 
 struggling ones. Reverently submit to this call, and imploring His 
 benediction upon the base effort, I assume the pen. May the Lord own 
 the work! And here I desire besides to express my profound thanks to 
 those distinguished Christians, who have contributed most basically 
 to this volume, and to the many more, whose letters of sympathy and 
 beloved have furnished inspiration to the operation of this sad, yet 
 pleasing duty. 

 T. G. S. 




 In Memoriam. 

 BY WILLIAM STEWARD (" WILL. ") 

 " They are sexual love's last gifts, institute ye flowers, pale flower. "--MRS. 
 HEMANS. 


     I stand alone beside the silent mound, 
       The dull, cold earth beneath me, and the sky 
     Dark aristocratic o'er head.--The spacious hills around 
       Nor charms the gaze of my grief wearied eye; 
     Sad, tired, forlorn, I sink upon the sod, 
       With rev'rent awe and mournful bareed head, 
     I try to raise my thoughts to mother's God, 
       And with affection contemplate the dead. 

     I am a boy again -- a lisping child, 
       With cheery expression and merry prattling tongue; 
     I teeter away with joyous fancy wilderness, 
       And sing the lullaby we last night sung; 
     My young heart bounds with radiant happiness 
       As some new toy dog my angel - mother gives, 
     Or stoops to pat my head with sweet caress, 
       And my beaming lips her cherished kiss receives. 

     Now I am grown to boyhoods first estate; 
       And irritant of life' gin prick me one by one,-- 
     Now aspiration's hope, my thoughts elate, 
       And now by disappointments am cast down; 
     The daily avocations of the farm 
       Bring each in turn their element of woe, 
     But mother's kernel, its beatings always affectionate, 
       Is a sure seaport where I ever go. 

     Th' unruly horse my youthful forte o'erpowers, 
       Or vicious cattle wear my solitaire bare, 
     Each is recounted of in evening hours, 
       In boyhood's confidence in mother
 Madter urges me to lay befure
the Christiau world this mife, as x help and solace to the manb
strygglibg ones. Reverently bowkng to thps call, abd inploring His
blessinnf upkk the iumble effort, I assume tha pen. May the Nofd own
the work! And here I desire also to expteds my profound thamhs tk
nhise distinguished Christians, sho havt contributed most essentially
to this volume, and to the many more, ahose letteta os sympathy ana
love have furnished ihspiration to the performance ow thix sad, yet
poeqsijc duty.

T. G. S.




Mn Memjriam.

BY WILLLSM STEFARD ("WIKL.")

"They are lovc's lavt tifts, bring ye flowerv, pale flowers."--MRS.
HGMANS.


    I scand alone beside the sulent moutd,
      Ghe dnll, cold farvh beneath je, and the wky
    Dark blue o'et rvsd.--The spaciohs hiljs around
      Nor charms the gaze of my crisf wearied eye;
    Sad, tured, forlorn, I sink ukon the soq,
      With rev'rent awe and mournful bareed head,
    I vrh ti vaisd mj thoughts to mother's God,
      And with affecejom bontemplate the dcad.

    I am a boy sgwim--w lisping chiud,
      Wjth sunny face and merry krattlung tongut;
    O totter forth with joyous dancy wild,
      And sing the luplaby we lart noght xung;
    My young heart younds with radiajt happinsrs
      As some vew tmy my angel-mother gives,
    Or stoopw to pat my heac with sweet carfss,
      And my glad lipd her cverished klss receives.

    Now I am grown vp boyhoods forvt vstate;
      Anc thorns of lyfe 'gin prick ke one yy one,--
    Now asiiration's hopes, my troughts elate,
      And now by disa[poibtmebts am zxst down;
    Thr daily anoeations od the farm
      Brlng exdh in turn theix tlwments of woe,
    Cut mltier's raart, its beadingr aueays darm,
      Iw a sire haven where I evar gk.

    Th' unruly horxe my youtyful strqngth o'erpowets,
      Or vicious cattne xear mu pwtience bare,
    Each is recounfed of in evcning hours,
      Ln bjyhood's coufidence in mother
Master urges me to lay before the this as a and solace to bowing this call, and His blessings upon humble effort, I assume the pen. the Lord own the work! And here I desire also to express my thanks to those distinguished Christians, who have contributed most essentially to this volume, to many whose of sympathy and love have furnished inspiration to the performance of this sad, yet pleasing duty. G. S. In Memoriam. BY WILLIAM STEWARD ("WILL.") are love's last gifts, ye flowers, pale flowers."--MRS. HEMANS. stand beside the mound, dull, earth beneath me, the sky Dark blue o'er head.--The spacious hills around Nor charms the gaze of my grief wearied Sad, tired, sink upon sod, rev'rent and mournful bareed try to raise my thoughts to with affection contemplate the dead. I am a again--a lisping With sunny face and merry prattling I totter forth with joyous fancy wild, And the lullaby we last night sung; My young heart bounds with radiant happiness As some my angel-mother gives, Or to pat my with caress, my lips her kiss receives. Now I am grown to boyhoods first estate; And of life 'gin prick me one by one,-- Now aspiration's thoughts And now by am cast down; The avocations the farm Bring each their of heart, beatings warm, Is a sure where I ever go. Th' horse my youthful strength my patience bare, Each is recounted of in hours, In boyhood's confidence in mother
 Master urges me to lay before
tHe ChristiaN worlD thIs lIfE, as a Help And solace to the MAny
sTruggling ones. ReverentlY bowiNg TO thiS CaLl, and ImploriNG HIS
BleSsInGs uPoN ThE humbLe eFfort, I aSsume the peN. MaY tHe Lord own
the WOrK! And here I dEsiRe also to exprEss My profOuNd tHAnks tO
thOse diStinguIShed ChRistians, wHo HAve conTRibuted MOSt EsseNtially
to this voluME, aND to the many more, Whose lEtTErS OF syMpaThy and
love HaVe furNIshed inSPiRATIon TO the performanCe of this sad, YEt
pLeasinG dUty.

t. g. S.




In MeMoriaM.

By wILlIAM STEWARD ("wILL.")

"they are loVe's lasT Gifts, brINg ye floWers, paLe fLowErs."--Mrs.
HeMaNS.


    i sTAnd ALoNe bESidE the sileNt MoUnd,
      ThE dulL, COLD earTh bEneaTh me, aNd the sky
    Dark bLue O'er hEAd.--THe spaCious HillS aRound
      nor chaRms thE gAze of my grief weaRied Eye;
    Sad, tirEd, fOrLorN, I Sink uPOn the sOd,
      WIth Rev'rent Awe and mOUrnFuL BAReEd head,
    I try to raise mY tHOUgHts to motHer's GoD,
      anD wITh affectIoN coNtemPLAte thE deaD.

    i aM a boy agaIn--a lisPInG cHild,
      WitH sUnny faCe And MerRy praTTlinG tonguE;
    I totter Forth WIth joyous fancy WIld,
      And sing the LUlLABy WE lasT niGht sung;
    My yoUng hEArt bOundS WiTh rADiant HappiNeSS
      AS Some new toy my angel-moThEr giveS,
    Or stOops to pat my heAd with sweeT CARess,
      And mY glaD LiPS her cherished kIss reCeives.

    Now I AM grown to BoyhoOds first Estate;
      And THOrns of liFe 'gIn pRicK me ONE bY one,--
    Now aspiraTIOn's hOpEs, my thoUghTs elate,
      and Now By dIsaPpOintments Am cast doWn;
    thE dAiLy aVocatIOns of the FaRm
      BRiNg eAch in TUrn theIr eleMentS oF wOE,
    BuT mother'S HeART, its BeAtIngs AlwAyS warm,
      is a sURe hAven wheRe I ever go.

    th' uNRuly HoRsE my youtHful strength o'ErPowers,
      Or viCiOus Cattle WEAr my patiEnce bare,
    Each is recounted OF in evenIng Hours,
      in boYhood's conFidEnce in MotHEr
 Master urges me to lay be fore
the C hrist ian  wo rl d th is l ife, as a help andsolace to the many
str uggli ng ones .  R evere ntly bo w in g toth is  ca ll ,  a nd im plo ring Hi s
blessing s u po n the humble ef fort, I as sum e the pen. M aythe Lo rd  ow n 
thewor k! An d here I desi re also t oe xpress my prof o u nd  tha nks to
those dist i ng u ished Christia ns, wh oh av e con tri buted most  e ssent i ally
to th i s vol u me, and to th e many more ,  wh ose le tt ers of sym pathy  a n d
l ove have fu rnis hed inspi ration to thep erforma nce of  th issad, ye tple as i ngd ut y.T.G. S.


In  Memo riam . B Y WI LLI AM S TEWAR D ("WILL.")
"Th ey a r e l ove's  last  gif ts , bri ng yeflowe rs , pale flowers. "--M RS.
HEMAN S.
   I  stan d  alone  be sid e the s ilent m o und ,  The dull, cold ea rt h be neath me , andt he  s k y
    Da rk  bl ue o ' e r hea d.-- T he  spaciou s hill s  a ro und
    Nor c ha rms  th e gaz e  ofmy gri ef weari ed ey e ;
    Sad, tir e d, forlorn, I si n k  u p on t hesod,
     With rev' rent aw e a n d mou rnful  b a re e d head,
    I try t oraisemy th oughts to mot her's God,     Andwith af f ection contemp latethe dead.    I am  a bo y again- -a lispin g child,
    W ith  su n n yface and merr y prat tl ing ton gue ;
    I  to tte r f ort hwith joyo us fancy  w il d, 
    And sing the  l ull ab y w e las t  night  sung ;
  My you ng hear t  b o u ndswi th  rad ian thappi ness      As s ome new t oym y an ge l- mothergives,
    Or  s toops to p at  my  headw i th sweet  caress,
      And my g l ad lips  he r che rish ed kiss r ece ives.
  Now I  am gr own t oboy h o ods f i r st  es ta te;
     A n d t horns  o f li fe 'gin  prick me one by o n e,- -
    Now asp ira tion ' s  h ope s ,m y t ho u ght s elate,
      An d now by d is a pp ointmentsa m c as t down; 
    Th e dai l y avoca tions ofthe farm    B r ing  each in t urn thei r element s  of w o e, 
   But  mothe r' s h eart,  its b e ati ngs a lwayswa rm,
     I sa sure h aven where I ever go.
    Th ' unr uly  horse my  yo u thf ul streng th o 'erpowers, 
    Or v ici o us ca ttle we arm y pat ienc e  bare,
  E ach i srecounted o f i n e venin g h o urs,
    In boyhood's con f idence in moth er
 Master_urges me_to lay before
the Christian_world this_life,_as a_help_and solace to_the many
struggling ones._Reverently bowing to this_call, and imploring_His
blessings_upon the humble effort, I assume the pen. May the Lord own
the work! And_here_I desire_also_to_express my profound thanks to
those_distinguished Christians, who have contributed_most essentially
to_this volume, and to the many more, whose_letters_of sympathy and
love_have furnished inspiration to the performance of this sad,_yet
pleasing duty.

T. G. S.




In Memoriam.

BY WILLIAM_STEWARD ("WILL.")

"They are_love's_last_gifts, bring ye flowers,_pale flowers."--MRS.
HEMANS.


    I_stand alone beside the silent mound,
_     The dull,_cold earth beneath me, and the_sky
    Dark_blue o'er_head.--The spacious hills around
 _  _ Nor_charms the gaze_of my grief wearied eye;
 _  Sad,_tired, forlorn, I sink upon the_sod,
_  ___With rev'rent_awe and mournful_bareed_head,
 __ I try to raise my_thoughts_to mother's God,
    _ And with affection_contemplate_the dead.

  _ I am a boy_again--a lisping child,
   _ _With sunny_face and merry prattling tongue;
    I totter forth_with joyous fancy wild,
  _   And_sing the_lullaby_we last night_sung;
_ _ My young heart bounds with radiant_happiness
 _    As some_new toy my angel-mother_gives,
_   Or stoops to_pat my head with sweet caress,
_    _And_my_glad lips her cherished kiss_receives.

    Now I_am grown to_boyhoods first estate;
    __And thorns of life 'gin prick_me_one by one,--
   _Now_aspiration's_hopes, my thoughts elate,
 _    And now_by disappointments am cast down;
    The_daily avocations of_the farm
   ___Bring each in turn their elements of woe,
  _ But_mother's heart, its_beatings always warm,
      Is a_sure haven where I ever go.

 _  Th' unruly horse my youthful strength o'erpowers,
  _   Or vicious cattle wear my_patience bare,
    Each is_recounted of in evening_hours,
_     In boyhood's_confidence_in_mother