Notes:

WITMER.-THE FIRST DEATH OF THE HOUSEHOLD. Written on the death of Esther Witmer, who died Jan. 10th, 1834, aged 19 years, 10 months and 20 days.

Oh! many a mournful year hath flown,
Since first amid our family band
Death came and stole our lovliest one,
And bore her to the spirit land
Yet shrined with many a sweet, sad thought,
That loved one's mem'ry lingers still;
For oh! she left a void that nought
But mournful thoughts could fill.

Years have passed by, I said, and yet,
It only seems the other day;
Since round her dying bed we met
With breaking hearts to weep and pray;
Her gentle soul, we strove to think
Would linger yet 'mid earthly flowers;
Even when 'twas trembling at the brink
Of the better world than ours.

Yes, there e'en when all hope had flown,
We wept away each lingering hour,
Until the shades of Death came down
And closed at length the closing flower;
And yet it seemed like sin to grieve
For one so patient and resigned,
For, if she mourned 'twas but to leave
Such breaking hearts behind.

She died! yet death could scarcely chill,
Her smiling beauties, though she lay
With cold, extended limbs, and still
Her face looked fairer than the day;
Those eyes, once elegant with bliss,
Now closed as soft as closing flowers-
Oh! few could bear a sight like this,
But such a sight like this was ours.

How slowly wore that long, long day,
Like spirits in some haunted place;
We'd sit and sigh-then steal away
To look once more on that pale face;
We could not think her soul had passed
The awful bounds of mortal strife,
That that warm heart was cold at last
That loved us more than life.

And when the funeral-rite was said,
They bore her from our happy home,
And left her with the silent dead
A pale-faced tenant of the tomb.
We reared no marble* midst the flowers,
Above her grave--to mark the spot;
Yet many a heart, as fond as ours
Still holds her unforgot.

Months passed, yet still our sorrow gushed;
The free glad laugh no more was heard;
And many a little voice was hushed,
That used to warble like a bird.
And though at times we strove to smile
Serenely for each other's sake,
And wept in secret all the while
As if our hearts would break.

Yet why should death be linked with fear,
A single breath-a low drawn sigh
Can break the ties that bind us here,
And waft the spirit to the sky.
Such was her end-a calm release-
No clinging to this mortal clod;
She closed her eyes and stood in peace
Before a smiling God.

Suspension Bridge. ----- E. Witmer.

*Since, a tombstone has been erected