(Written in her fifteenth year.)

Sweet babe, I cannot hope thou wilt be freed
From woes, to all, since earliest time, decreed;
But mayest thou be with resignation blessed,
To bear each evil, howsoe'er distressed.

May Hope her anchor lend amid the storm,
And o'er the tempest rear her angel forth!
May sweet Benevolence, whose words are peace,
To the rude whirlwinds softly whisper 'cease!'

And may Religion, Heaven's own darling child,
Teach thee at human cares and griefs to smile;
Teach thee to look beyond this world of woe,
To Heaven's high fount, whence mercies ever flow.

And when this vale of tears is safely passed,
When Death's dark curtain shuts the scene at last,
May thy freed spirit leave this earthly sod,
And fly to seek the bosom of thy God.