before the throne! she sees him, whom not having seen, she loved; she drinks of the rivers of pleasure, which are at his right hand, and shall thirst no more. She was born at St. Margaret's, Rochester, February 6, 1771. She breathed her spirit into her Redeemer's hands, a little before seven in the evening, on the 6th of October, 1785, aged fourteen years and eight months. I shall be glad if this little narrative may prove an encouragement to my friends who have children. May we not conceive the Lord saying to us, as Pharaoh's daughter said to the mother of Moses, "Take this child and bring it up for me, and I will pay thee thy wages.' How solemn the trust! how important and difficult the discharge of it! but how rich the reward if our endeavours are crowned with success! And we have everything to hope from his power and goodness, if, in dependence upon his blessing, we can fully and diligently aim at fulfilling his will. Happy they who will say at the last day, "Behold, here am I, and the children which thou hast given me." The children of my friends will likewise see my narrative. May it convince them that it is practicable and good to seek the Lord betimes! My dear Eliza's state of languor prevented her from associating with young people of her own age, so frequently and freely as she might otherwise have done. But these papers will come into the hands of some such, whom she knew, and whom she loved. To them I particularly commend and dedi cate this relation. Oh! my dear young friends, had you seen with what dignity of spirit she filled up the last scene of her life, you must have been affected by it! Let not the liveliness of your spirits, and the gayety of the prospects around you, prevent you from considering that to you likewise days will certainly come (unless you are suddenly snatched out of life), when you will say, and feel, that the world, and all in it, can afford you no pleasure. But there is a Saviour, and a mighty One, always near, always gracious to those who seek him. May you, like her, be enabled to choose him, as the Guide of your youth, and the Lord of your hearts. Then, like her, you will find support and comfort under affliction, wisdom to direct your conduct, a good hope in death, and by death a happy translation to everlasting life. I have only to add my prayer, that a blessing from on high may descend upon the persons and families of all my friends, and upon all into whose hands this paper may providentially come. JOHN NEWTON. SCRIPTURAL SELECTIONS. REMEMBER now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.-Ecclesiastes, xii. 1. Father, I will that they also whom thou hast given me be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory, which thou hast given me: for thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world.—John, xvii. 24. In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself: that where I am, there ye may be also.-John, xiv. 2, 3. Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.Ps. cxvi. 15. The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come. He shall enter into peace: they shall rest in their beds, each one walking in his uprightness.—Isaiah, lviii. 1, 2. 43 WEEP NOT FOR HER! WEEP not for her! her span was like the sky, Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright, Like flowers that know not what it is to die, Like long-linked shadeless months of polar light, Like music floating o'er a waveless lake, Weep not for her! she died in early youth, Weep not for her! Weep not for her! By fleet or slow decay Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark. She passed, as 'twere on smiles, from earth to heaven; Weep not for her! Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel The miseries that corrode amassing years, 'Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel, To wander sad down age's vale of tears, As whirl the withered leaves from friendship's tree, And on earth's wintry world alone to be; And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise, All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow, Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from her eyes, The vista'd joys of heaven's eternal years; Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonlight of an autumn night: Weep not for her! There is no cause of woe And from earth's low defilements keep thee back. So when a few fleet swerving years have flown, She'll meet thee at heaven's gate-and lead thee on: Weep not for her! |