(Written in her fifteenth year.)

Friend of my heart, thou monitor of youth,
Well do I love thee, dearest child of truth;
Though many a lonely hour thy whisperings low
Have made sad chorus to the notes of woe.

Or 'mid the happy hour which joyful flew,
Thou still wert faithful, still unchanged, still true;
Or when the task employed my infant mind,
Oft have I sighed to see thee lag behind;

And watched thy finger, with a youthful glee,
When it had pointed silently, 'be free:'
Thou wert my mentor through each passing year;
'Mid pain or pleasure, thou wert ever near.

And when the wings of time unnoticed flew,
I paused, reflected, wondered, turned to you;
Paused in my heedless round, to mark thy hand,
Pointing to conscience, like a magic wand;

To watch thee stealing on thy silent way,
Silent, but sure, Time's pinions cannot stay;
How many hours of pleasure, hours of pain,
When smiles were bright'ning round affliction's train?

How many hours of poverty and woe,
Which taught cold drops of agony to flow?
How many hours of war, of blood, of death,
Which added laurels to the victor's wreath?

How many deep-drawn sighs thy hand hath told,
And dimmed the smile, and dried the tear which rolled?
When the loud cannon spoke the voice of war,
And death and bloodshed whirled their crimson car?

When the proud banner, waving in the breeze,
Had welcomed war, and bade adieu to peace,
Thy faithful finger traced the wing of time,
Pointed to earth, and then to heaven sublime.

Unmoved amid the carnage of the world,
When thousands to eternity were hurled,
Thy head was reared aloft, truth's chosen child,
Beaming serenely through the troubled wild.

Friend of my youth, ere from its mould'ring clay
My joyful spirit wings to heaven its way;
O may'st thou watch beside my aching head,
And tell how fast time flits with feathered tread.